LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OK 
CALlFOWf* 

SAN 


presented  to  the 

I.IRRAHY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  •  SAN  DIEGO 

by 
FRIENDS  OF  THE  LIBRARY 

MR.   JOHN  C.   ROSE 

donor 


ffXy 

rfff^ 


MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 


MY   SCRAP-BOOK 


OF 


THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION 


EDITED    BY 

ELIZABETH   WORMELEY    LATIMER 

AUTHOR  OK  -'FRANCE  IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY,"  "RUSSIA 

AND  TURKEY  IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY,"  "ENGLAND 

IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY,"  "  EUROPE  IN  AFRICA 

IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY,"  "ITALY  IN  THE 

NINETEENTH   CENTURY,"   "SPAIN   IN  THE 

NINETEENTH    CENTURY,"    ETC. 


SECOND    EDITION 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG    AND    COMPANY 
1898 


COPYRIGHT 
KY  A.  C.  MC-CLURO  AND  Co. 

•  A.I).    1898 


NOTE. 

OF  this  book  I  am  simply  the  compiler,  —  unless,  indeed, 
I  may  call  myself  the  translator  of  such  parts  as 
have  been  derived  from  French  sources.  I  collected  the 
material  two  years  since,  when  giving  parlor  lectures  on  the 
French  Revolution;  and  much  that  then  passed  into  my 
scrap-drawer  seemed  to  me  too  interesting  to  be  confined 
to  small  circles  of  ladies  who  gathered  round  me  with  their 
crochet-work  or  embroidery.  I  have,  therefore,  collected 
my  "  Scraps  "  into  a  book  for  general  reading. 

Thomas  Waters  Griffith,  whose  reminiscences  begin  this 
volume,  was  the  uncle  of  my  husband,  Randolph  B.  Latimer. 
He  wrote  several  books  concerning  the  early  history  of 
Baltimore  and  Maryland,  and  left  behind  him  a  manuscript 
volume  of  his  personal  reminiscences.  With  that  portion 
of  it  which  contains  a  narrative  of  his  residence  in  France 
during  the  Reign  of  Terror  and  the  rule  of  the  Directory 
I  have  begun  this  volume.  After  his  return  from  France, 
he  was  sent  by  the  government  at  Washington  to  report  on 
the  condition  of  the  Island  of  Hayti.  He  was  a  strong 
Federalist,  and  has  left  a  minute  account  of  riots  in 
Baltimore  in  1812,  when  the  offices  of  a  Federalist  news- 
paper were  attacked  by  a  so-called  "  patriotic "  'mob. 
Louis  XVIII.,  in  1816,  sent  him  the  Cross  of  St.  Louis, 
in  recognition  of  the  services  he  had  rendered  to  emigres 
during  the  Reign  of  Terror.  He  was  also  made  a  Free- 
mason during  his  residence  in  France.  I  have  a  parch- 
ment containing  a  certificate  of  his  initiation  into  the  order, 
in  the  second  year  of  the  Republic. 


iv  NOTE. 

I  was  a  subscriber  to  the  Literary  Supplement  of  the 
Paris  "  Figaro  "  for  twenty  years.  During  the  years  1893, 
1894,  and  1895,  the  centennial  anniversary  of  terrible 
scenes  in  the  Reign  of  Terror,  this  paper  published  valuable 
articles  on  the  subject  as  the  one  hundredth  anniversary  of 
each  event  arose.  These  monographs,  I  think,  cannot  but 
be  found  interesting  by  many  of  my  readers. 

I  have  tried  to  keep  in  mind  in  all  my  writings  the  motto, 
Suum  cuiquey  and  to  claim  no  more  credit  than  what  is 
fairly  my  due. 

In  conclusion,  I  would  like  to  acknowledge  my  obliga- 
tions in  this  book  —  and  the  obligations  of  a  lifetime  —  to 
"  Littell's  Living  Age."  Living,  as  I  have  done,  in  the 
country,  I  could  not  without  its  assistance  have  kept  in 
touch  with  foreign  magazine  literature.  In  1841,  Mr. 
Robert  Walsh,  then  United  States  Consul  in  Paris,  and  at 
that  time  one  of  America's  leading  literary  men,  showed  me 
an  early  number  of  the  "  Living  Age,"  saying,  "  This  pub- 
lication will  prove  of  immense  value  to  all  classes  of  readers 
in  our  country."  I  have  a  complete  copy  of  the  "  Living 
Age"  from  1848  to  the  present  day, — nearly  two  hundred 
volumes,  each  containing  more  than  six  hundred  pages. 
To  me  it  has  been  of  inestimable  value  in  my  work,  and  to 
the  children  in  my  family  an  education. 

The  "  Scraps  "  in  this  volume  are  not,  I  think,  accessible 
to  the  public  without  research,  with  the  exception  of  two 
or  three  taken  from  Carlyle's  "  French  Revolution."  I 
inserted  them  as  links  between  events  which  I  thought 
needed  some  connection ;  and  who  can  paint  in  a  few  brief 
words  a  picture  like  Carlyle?  His  rugged  style  lends  point 
and  picturesqueness  to  his  narratives,  and,  as  Victor  Hugo 
says,  "fait penser"  Nevertheless,  in  these  extracts  I  have 
taken  the  great  liberty  of  slightly  modifying  the  language. 
If  Carlyle  were  living,  I  am  afraid  he  would  be  angry  with 
me.  I  saw  him  angry  once  (not  with  me),  and  should 


NOTE.  v 

have  been  afraid  to  provoke  him  again  to  anger.  But  my 
excuse  for  my  presumption  is  that  the  introduction  of  a 
few  pages  of  pure  Carlylese  into  the  midst  of  a  work  written 
in  a  wholly  different  style,  though  by  a  variety  of  authors, 
would  have  produced  in  parts  of  my  book  a  sort  of  dislo- 
cation. Perhaps  I  had  no  right  to  substitute  "frenzied" 
for  "  fremescent,"  and  so  on;  for,  indeed,  the  word  "fren- 
zied "  has  not  half  the  force  of  "fremescent."  But  the  one 
is  our  every-day  English  ;  the  other,  not. 

E.  W.  L. 

BONNYWOOD,  HOWARD  Co.,  MARYLAND, 
August,  1898. 


CONTENTS. 


Book  I. 

REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  AMERICAN  GENTLEMAN  RESIDENT 
IN   PARIS  FROM   1791   TO   1799. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THOMAS  WATERS  GRIFFITH:  HE  GOES  TO  FRANCE  .    .  9 

II.  AUGUST  AND  SEPTEMBER  IN  PARIS  IN  1792     .    .    .    ,  27 

III.  His  IMPRISONMENT  IN  THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR  ...  43 

IV.  LIFE  IN  PARIS  UNDER  THE  DIRECTORY  ......  58 

Boofc  II. 

FRANCE    BEFORE  THE   REVOLUTION. 

I.  IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LATUDE 70 

II.  A  PEASANT'S  VIEW  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 107 

III.  PARIS  IN  1787 116 

IV.  COURT  LIFE  AT  VERSAILLES  ON  THE  EVE  OF  THE  REV- 

OLUTION     130 

Book  III. 

THE  COLLAPSE   OF   FRENCH   ROYALTY. 

I.  THE  FLIGHT  TO  VARENXES 144 

II.  COUNT  AXEL  FERSEN 164 

III.  AUGUST  THE  TENTH  AND  THE  SEPTEMBER  MASSACRES  172 

IV.  THE  PRINCESSE  DE  LAMBALLE 184 

V.  THE  KING 198 

VI.  MARIE  ANTOINETTE  AND  ROBESPIERRE 223 

VII.  CLOSING  SCENES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MARIE  ANTOINETTE  272 


viii  CONTENTS. 

Book  IV. 
THE  REIGN   OF  TERROR. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.   MARAT     .    .    .    .    ..............  244 

II.  DANTON  ..................  277 

III.  THE  FEAST  OF  THE  SUPREME  BEING  .......  290 

IV.  THE  FALL  OF  ROBESPIERRE     ..........  308 

V.   A  CHAPTER  OF  EPISODES:  — 

i.  Robespierre  as  a  Poet  ...........  324 

ii.  Robespierre's  Private  Life  with  the  Family  of  Duplay  325 

iii.  The  Revolutionary  Calendar     ........  335 

iv.  "Which?"    By  Fran9ois  Coppee      ......  342 

v.  Dogs  in  the  Revolution     ..........  343 

Book  V. 

THE  CLERGY  OF  FRANCE  DURING  THE 
REVOLUTION. 

I.  EXILES  FOR  CONSCIENCE'  SAKE    .........    348 

II.  A  CONVENTIONAL  BISHOP   ...........    355 

III.  A  PROTESTANT  PASTOR    ............    362 


VI. 

LAFAYETTE  AND   HIS   FAMILY. 

I.  LAFAYETTE'S  CAREER  .............    373 

II.  DEATHS  OF  THE  LADIES  OF  MADAME  DE  LAFAYETTE'S 

FAMILY   .................    390 

Book  VII. 

LOUIS  XVII. 

I.  THE  DAUPHIN  IN  THE  TEMPLE    .........    401 

II.   HISTORIC  DOUBTS  AS  TO  THE  FATE  OF  Louis  XVII.      408 
III.  THE  LOST  PRINCE    ..............    421 


INDEX 


443 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


MARIE  ANTOINETTE Frontispiece 

THOMAS  WATERS  GRIFFITH To  face  page  10 

GOUVERNEUR  MORRIS „  „  22 

THOMAS  PAINE „  „  50 

JAMES  MONROE „  „  56 

CHARLES  MAURICE  TALLEYRAND „  „  60 

CHARLES  COTES  WORTH  PINCKNEY „  „  66 

HENRI  MASERS  DE  LATUDE „  „  70 

MADAME  DE  POMPADOUR „  „  90 

MADAME  NECKER „  „  102 

Louis  XVI „  „  132 

DUCHESSE  D'ANGOULEME  AND  THE  DAUPHIN      .       „  „  146 

MARIE  ANTOINETTE „  „  154 

COUNT  AXEL  FERSEN „  „  164 

MADAME  ELISABETH ,  „  174 

PRINCESSE  DE  LAMBALLE „  „  184 

Louis  XVI „  „  198 

MARIE  ANTOINETTE  LEAVING  THE  TRIBUNAL     .       „  „  232 

MARAT „  „  244 

CHARLOTTE  CORDAY „  „  262 

DANTON „  „  278 

ROBESPIERRE „  „  308 

HENRI  GREGOIRE,  BISHOP  OF  BLOIS „  „  356 

JEAN  PAUL  RABAUT „  „  362 

LAFAYETTE ,  „  374 

MADAME  DE  LAFAYETTE „  „  380 

Louis  XVII „  „  402 

DUCHESSE  D'ANGOULEME „  „  416 

REV.  ELEAZER  WILLIAMS „  422 


MY  SCRAP-BOOK 

OF 

THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 


BOOK   I. 

REMINISCENCES  OF  AN  AMERICAN  GENTLEMAN 
RESIDENT   IN    PARIS    FROM    1791   TO    1799. 

I.  THOMAS  WATERS  GRIFFITH:  HE  GOES  TO  FRANCE. 

II.  AUGUST  AND  SEPTEMBER,  1792. 

III.  His  IMPRISONMENT. 

IV.  LIFE  IN  PARIS  UNDER  THE  DIRECTORY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THOMAS   WATERS    GRIFFITH  :    HE    GOES   TO    FRANCE. 


WATERS  GRIFFITH,  who  was  born  in 

J-  Baltimore  in  1767,  and  died  in  the  same  city  in  1834, 
left  behind  him  several  printed  books  of  which  he  was  the 
author,  many  papers  and  letters  of  historical  interest,  and  a 
copious  account  of  fifty  years  of  his  own  life,  eight  years  of 
which  time  he  passed  in  France  during  the  stormy  days  of 
the  French  Revolution.  As  a  merchant  resident  in  Havre, 
and  subsequently  U.  S.  Consul  at  the  same  port,  he  had  it  in 
his  power  frequently  to  favor  the  escape  of  emigres  ;  and  Louis 
XVIII.,  in  recognition  of  these  services,  sent  him  the  Cross  of 
St.  Louis  in  1816.  Mr.  Griffith  says  little,  however,  of  such 
things  in  his  Journal.  In  1799,  during  the  disputes  between 
the  United  States  and  the  Directory,  he  quitted  France,  to 
which  country  he  never  returned.  He  was  afterwards  sent 
on  a  mission  to  Hayti,  of  which  he  has  given  an  interesting 


IO  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

account  in  his  Journal.  The  manuscript  ends  in  1821, 
after  which  time  he  led  till  1834  an  uneventful  life  as  a  pub- 
lic-spirited and  useful  citizen  of  Baltimore. 

That  my  readers  may  know  what  manner  of  man  was  this 
young  eye-witness  of  the  French  Revolution,  from  the  au- 
tumn of  1791  to  1799,  I  here  introduce  his  Revolutionary 
experience  by  a  few  extracts  concerning  his  early  life  in  the 
first  pages  of  his  Journal.  It  begins  thus  :  — 

The  Proprietary  of  Pennsylvania  had  taken  so  much 
pains  to  cultivate  the  place  of  his  first  settlement  in  that 
province  that  the  population  soon  increased  by  immigration. 
Early  in  the  eighteenth  century  came  out  a  colony  of  Welsh 
Baptists  from  England,  who  took  up  a  considerable  body  of 
land  on  the  head  waters  of  Christern  Creek.  They  had 
brought  with  them  their  own  pastor,  the  Rev.  John  Griffith, 
my  great-grandfather,  and  they  at  once  erected  a  brick 
church,  and  set  aside  land  for  its  support.  The  colonists 
retained  their  habits  of  industry  and  honest  simplicity.  They 
were  a  rural  population  fifty  miles  distant  from  the  port  of 
Philadelphia,  and  they  long  preserved  their  native  (Welsh) 
language,  in  which  indeed  I  have  often  heard  them  converse 
with  fluency  and  pleasure. 

My  father,  Benjamin  Griffith,  when  he  had  acquired  a 
small  capital,  settled  down  in  Baltimore,  and  married  Rachel, 
daughter  of  Thomas  Waters,  who  was  also  of  Welsh  extraction. 
I  was  the  only  child  of  this  marriage,  my  young  mother 
dying  in  Baltimore  shortly  after  my  birth.  I  was  then  sent 
as  soon  as  possible  to  the  care  of  my  grandparents  in  Ches- 
ter Co.,  Pennsylvania,  who  lived  within  sight  of  Valley  Forge. 
In  those  days  imported  convict  servants  were  employed  in 
Maryland,  and  an  Irish  girl  of  this  description  was  sent  to 
take  charge  of  me  in  Pennsylvania.  Such  servants  were  often 
persons  of  the  worst  character,  who  brought  crime  and  dis- 
order into  peaceful  families.  My  nurse  was  of  this  descrip- 
tion, and  her  conduct  towards  me,  her  unfortunate  charge, 
betrayed  such  criminal  designs  that  my  protectors  got  rid  of 
her  as  soon  as  possible.  Not  long  after,  she  was  tried  for 
murder  at  Chester,  convicted,  and  executed. 


THOMAS  WATERS  GRIFFITH. 


THOMAS  WATERS  GRIFFITH,  \\ 

My  father  married  again  and  had  a  large  family,  two 
daughters  1  and  five  sons.  I  take  pleasure  in  reflecting  on  the 
respect  my  ancestors  had  acquired  by  their  uniform  integrity, 
and  their  religious  and  benevolent  deportment.  My  father, 
Benjamin  Griffith,  was  an  outspoken  enemy  to  British  taxa- 
tion, and  when  our  Revolutionary  troubles  broke  out,  and 
troops  were  raised  in  Baltimore  and  Pennsylvania,  he  at  once 
volunteered  his  services,  while  his  family  was  moved  from 
Baltimore  to  a  place  of  safety. 

When  in  1776  the  British  army  passed  within  two  miles 
of  my  grandfather's  house,  and  halted  a  day  or  two  south  of 
the  Valley  Forge,  I  well  remember  the  appearance  of  the 
Hessians,  who  came  looking  for  Colonel  Denvers,  who  had 
married  my  aunt.  Not  only  did  they  plunder  our  house  and 
barn,  but  they  went  so  far  as  to  put  a  halter  round  my  grand- 
father's neck,  alleging  that  he  would  not  tell  them  where  the 
rebel  colonel  was.  This,  in  fact,  he  did  not  know,  the  colonel 
being  at  that  time  at  the  American  headquarters  then  moving 
from  place  to  place  in  advance  of  the  enemy.  To  Mrs.  Den- 
vers and  her  infant  boy  (who  they  knew  was  named  George 
Washington)  they  were  civil  enough ;  and  also  to  myself, 
although  I  was  not  a  little  alarmed  at  their  strange  language 
and  long  whiskers.  I  thought  them  savages,  and  very  dread- 
ful. When  scouting  parties  came  it  was  necessary  to  spread 
before  them  quantities  of  bread,  butter,  cheese,  and  such 
drinks  as  the  house  afforded.  The  foraging  parties  gave  out 
that  all  they  took  should  be  paid  for  in  Philadelphia,  and  my 
grandfather  took  their  receipts,  but  nothing  was  ever  received. 
Not  long  after  the  British  left  to  occupy  Philadelphia,  the 
same  ground  was  occupied  by  American  troops  ;  and  Colonel 
Denvers'  house  became  the  headquarters  of  General  Potts, 
whose  orderly  conduct  and  social  manners  made  him  a  great 
favorite  among  us. 

After  the  battle  of  Germantown,  in  which  my  father  served 
with  the  Baltimore  troop,  he  was  sent  to  bring  back  to  Balti- 
more the  remains  of  his  commander,  General  Cox,  whom  he 

1  The  younger  daughter  married,  in  1813,  Randolph  Wallace  Lati 
mer  of  Baltimore.  —  E.  W.  L. 


12  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

had  interred  upon  the  battlefield.  He  took  this  opportunity, 
as  I  was  then  ten  years  old,  of  reclaiming  me  from  my  grand- 
parents, and  took  me  home  to  be  placed  under  the  care  of 
his  second  wife,  who  was  my  mother's  cousin. 

I  missed,  however,  the  freedom  of  country  life,  and  pined 
for  the  farm  of  my  grandfather.  But  thus  it  happened  that 
I  was  spared  all  sight  of  the  sufferings  of  the  Revolutionary 
army  in  the  terrible  winter  of  1777-78,  when,  half-naked 
and  half-famished,  our  soldiers  encamped  during  the  bitter 
winter  months  between  the  Heights  looking  down  on  Valley 
Forge  and  the  Schuylkill. 

It  was  the  year  1776,  and  I  was  sent  to  school  in  Balti- 
more, but  I  often  changed  my  teachers,  who  were  forced  to 
give  up  teaching  for  various  causes ;  one,  —  Mr.  Laurence 
Bathurst,  who  was  a  good  man  and  an  excellent  instructor, 
—  because  he  was  a  Roman  Catholic.  At  that  time  nothing 
was  taught  in  those  schools  but  English  reading,  writing,  and 
ciphering,  and  there  was  a  great  scarcity  of  teachers  of  any 
kind.  It  was  a  fortunate  circumstance,  I  think,  for  the  estab- 
lishment of  free  institutions  in  the  United  States  that  the  state 
of  society  at  that  period  was  rather  patriarchal  than  refined. 
Children  were  under  great  restraint  to  parents ;  their  manner 
of  living  was  plain ;  their  desires  limited ;  and  the  rules  of 
justice,  with  the  fear  of  God,  were  implanted  in  the  youthful 
mind  by  the  general  use  of  the  Bible  and  Testament  as 
reading-books  in  the  schools. 

When  I  had  attained  the  age  of  fourteen  I  was  sent  to  a 
superior  school  in  Delaware.  The  whole  yearly  expense  of  my 
boarding  and  tuition  was  about  eighty  dollars.  The  fare  was 
very  scanty,  but  we  had  at  least  some  tea  and  sugar  after  the 
French  alliance  and  the  change  of  the  currency  from  paper 
money  to  specie  ;  whereas  before  that  our  diet  was  confined 
to  bread  and  milk,  or  other  plain  food,  to  which  no  doubt 
I  owe  a  length  of  days  which  my  infancy  by  no  means  prom- 
ised, and  certainly  a  disposition  to  be  thankful  for  any  kind 
of  sustenance  a  bountiful  Creator  may  provide  for  me. 

At  this  school  I  made  progress  in  learning,  and  was  held 
to  have  had  success  in  elocution,  so  that  Governor  Van  Dyke 


THOMAS   WATERS  GRIFFITH,  13 

of  Delaware,  who  was  present  at  one  of  our  school  celebra- 
tions, had  the  complaisance  to  advise  my  being  kept  at 
school  and  placed  where  I  might  study  law  as  my  profession. 
But  a  year  or  two  later,  when  an  offer  was  made  me  of  going 
into  the  office  of  a  relative  who  was  a  Baltimore  lawyer,  my 
father  told  me  plainly  (being  moved  thereto,  I  think,  by  the 
strict  religious  opinions  of  his  wife)  that  in  his  opinion  the 
profession  was  not  compatible  with  Christian  duty.  There 
can,  I  think,  be  no  doubt  that  some  professions  afford  less 
security  against  temptation  than  others,  and  perhaps  that 
of  the  law  is  the  worst  in  this  respect.  Still,  some  lawyers 
have  been  called  honest,  and  it  depends  on  any  man  under 
Divine  Providence  to  guard  himself,  and  make  his  profession 
honest  and  even  honorable  so  far  as  depends  on  himself. 

At  the  school  in  Delaware  we  had  occasional  private 
theatricals  ;  on  one  occasion  I  acted  Marius  in  Addison's  play 
of  "  Cato,"  and  the  Mock  Doctor  in  an  after-piece.  The 
news  of  the  surrender  of  Lord  Cornwallis  was  celebrated  by 
burning  thirteen  tar  barrels  elevated  on  poles  in  our  school- 
yard. 

I  was  taken  at  sixteen  from  that  school, —  alas  !  too  young ; 
but  my  father  had  not  abandoned  the  idea  of  completing  my 
education.  An  intimacy  had  sprung  up  between  himself  and 
some  French  officers  during  their  stay  in  Baltimore,  and  this 
induced  him  to  wish  that  I  should  acquire  the  French  lan- 
guage. He  had  indeed  promised  M.  Louis,  Commissioner- 
General,  who  had  been  quartered  in  his  house  in  1781,  to 
send  me  to  France,  and  put  me  under  his  care.  I  was  there- 
fore placed  at  a  school  where  I  could  learn  French,  and  in 
1783,  peace  being  restored  with  the  acknowledgment  of 
American  independence,  a  sudden  impetus  was  given  to  com- 
merce, building,  and  general  improvement  in  Baltimore. 
My  father  filled  several  of  the  municipal  offices,  and  I  was 
placed  in  a  counting-house  to  learn  book-keeping.  But  my 
father,  wishing  to  open  for  me  a  more  extensive  field  of  im- 
provement, sent  me  to  Philadelphia  to  be  placed  in  the 
counting-house  of  Mr.  John  Field.  He  was  a  member  of 
the  Society  of  Friends,  and  expressed  himself  "  willing,"  as 


14  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

he  said,  "  to  take  the  youth ;  "  but  he  demanded  a  premium 
of  eight  hundred  dollars.  This  my  father,  with  his  large  fam- 
ily by  his  second  wife,  was  unable  to  pay.  All  my  life  I  have 
been  somewhat  anxious  to  be  smartly  dressed,  and  my  appear- 
ance, as  I  heard  afterwards,  was  in  part  the  cause  of  the  high 
premium  demanded,  for  Mr.  Field  observed  that  from  my  looks 
he  was  led  to  consider  my  father  as  a  wealthy  man  ;  and  that, 
dress  as  I  might,  I  should  have  to  make  fires  and  sweep  out 
the  store  for  some  time.  To  this  I  should  have  offered  no 
objection,  but  the  sum  asked  for  my  premium  was  too  great. 
I  was  therefore  placed  in  Baltimore  with  a  merchant  recently 
arrived  from  Liverpool. 

Besides  attending  to  business  in  a  way  which  I  was  led  to 
believe  was  wholly  satisfactory  to  my  employer,  I  found  time 
to  take  lessons  in  French,  dancing,  and  psalmody,  also  in 
instrumental  music  for  a  short  time ;  but  the  latter  was  par- 
ticularly discouraged  by  my  employer,  who  took  occasion  to 
say  in  my  presence  that  a  good  merchant  and  a  good  musi- 
cian could  not  be  combined  in  the  same  person.  Therefore 
my  fiddle  was  laid  aside  with  the  approbation  of  my  father 
although  he  was  particularly  fond  of  music.  He  was  always 
consulted  by  me  in  matters  of  amusement  as  well  as  business, 
and  his  will  was  ever  a  law  to  me,  not  only  from  the  awe  in- 
spired by  his  occasional  rebukes,  but  from  the  gratitude  ever 
due  to  an  affectionate  and  prudent  father.  He  was  at  that 
time  much  influenced  by  his  wife,  who  had  recently  joined 
the  Baptist  communion.  My  father  greatly  revered  the 
character  of  an  open  professor  of  religion,  though  he  never 
embraced  it  himself.  He  cheerfully  hired  seats  in  the  Epis- 
copal and  Presbyterian  churches,  until  about  this  time  a 
stated  minister  was  procured  for  the  Baptist  Society.  I  had 
myself  been  baptized  in  my  infancy  by  the  rector  of  St.  Paul's 
Church.  I  had  not,  however,  at  the  period  of  which  I  write, 
formed  any  decided  religious  sentiments,  but  was  induced 
from  a  slight  knowledge  of  classical  literature  rather  to  incline 
to  the  theology  of  heathenism.  This  tendericy  to  skepticism 
was  probably  stimulated  by  the  suspicions  of  my  father,  who 
at  this  time  exhibited  much  anxiety  concerning  my  religious 


THOMAS  WATERS  GRIFFITH.  15 

opinions.  I  did  not,  however,  relax  in  my  attendance  on 
public  worship,  nor  allow  the  slightest  want  of  respect  to 
appear  in  my  conduct  towards  religion  and  its  professors. 

When  I  attained  my  twentieth  year  and  received  a  clerk's 
salary,  I  was  eager  to  pursue  my  acquaintance  with  foreign 
languages,  and  boarded  first  with  a  German,  afterwards  with 
a  French  family.  I  made  one  observation  which  I  think  I 
have  never  seen  elsewhere  ;  namely,  that  there  are  in  these 
languages  no  terms  of  swearing  exactly  corresponding  to  our 
English  cursing. 

I  occasionally  looked  into  Mr.  Murphy's  Circulating  Li- 
brary, but  I  did  not  subscribe.  My  father's  collection  of 
books  was  limited,  chiefly  divinity.  I  read  with  great  inter- 
est Hume's  "  History  of  England  "  and  the  "  Spectator." 
To  this  last  I  was  indebted  for  the  general  knowledge  of 
manners  with  which  I  commenced  life.  I  also  belonged  to 
a  debating  society  of  young  men  as  little  advanced  as  myself, 
and  became  a  member  of  the  first  Abolition  Society,  at  this 
time  started  in  Baltimore,  and  in  its  establishment  I  took 
much  interest. 

The  people  of  Baltimore,  during  the  first  years  that  suc- 
ceeded the  war,  grew  faster  in  wealth  than  in  discretion.  In 
the  course  of  three  years  a  reaction  came.  The  country 
was  exhausted  of  capital  to  pay  for  excessive  importations. 
Each  State  was  seeking  relief  for  itself,  and  great  fears  were 
entertained  lest  we  should  be  subject  to  taxation  in  passing 
from  one  State  to  another.  People  of  property  were  com- 
pelled to  reduce  their  expenses,  and  the  working  classes  were 
destitute  of  employment.  The  Treasury  of  the  Union  was 
empty,  and  could  not  be  replenished  by  funds  from  the  States, 
for  the  States  had  relied  on  duties  collected  in  their  ports ; 
these  daily  diminished,  and  public  creditors  were  either  put 
off  or  paid  in  some  States  by  a  further  issue  of  paper,  —  an 
expedient  that  afforded  only  temporary  relief.  But  there 
was  little  of  this  paper  in  circulation.  Baltimore  had  been 
without  a  bank  until  nearly  this  period,  and  all  large  pay- 
ments were  made  in  bags  of  heavy  coin. 

Under  these  circumstances   my  employer  diminished  as 


1 6  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

much  as  possible  his  expenses ;  and,  unfavorable  as  the 
times  were,  I  embarked  in  business  on  my  own  account. 
My  capital  consisted  only  of  my  savings ;  but  my  character 
for  integrity  and  industry  stood  me  in  good  stead,  and  on 
the  whole  I  succeeded  far  better  than  could  have  been  ex- 
pected. I  also,  about  this  time  (1790),  began  to  send  com- 
munications to  the  newspapers.  My  opinions  were  those  of 
a  Federalist ;  and  it  is  with  some  pride  I  can  add  that  the 
same  political  principles  have  been  my  guide  and  standard 
throughout  life. 

I  had  occasionally  visited  my  respected  grandfather,  who 
was  living  in  Philadelphia ;  also  New  York  and  Alexandria, 
with  a  desire  to  find  one  of  these  places  suitable  for  my 
future  business ;  but  I  finally  concluded  on  going  to  France 
and  establishing  myself  in  one  of  the  French  seaports,  where 
I  could  receive  consignments  from  America. 

This  determination  was  greatly  strengthened  by  the  admi- 
ration with  which  at  that  time  (1790)  I  viewed  the  first  steps 
taken  in  France  towards  the  establishment  of  a  free  govern- 
ment, —  a  sentiment  in  which,  it  may  be  said,  every  man  in 
America  partook  at  that  period,  including  my  aged  grand- 
father. 

Although  Mr.  Adams  had  forcibly  pointed  out  the  dangers 
that  might  arise  from  uncurbed  democracy,  and  our  own 
General  Government  had  been  modelled  on  his  principles, 
the  true  position  of  things  in  France  was  not  even  suspected 
in  America  ;  indeed,  every  act  of  the  Constitutional  Assembly 
was  enthusiastically  admired.  There  was  no  republication  in 
America  of  the  speeches  of  the  more  conservative  members, 
which  might  have  corrected  our  ignorant  enthusiasm  ;  while 
the  splendid  declamations  of  Mirabeau,  which  were  all  re- 
printed, made  us  think  that  Frenchmen  were  fitted  for  a  gov- 
ernment more  liberal  than  our  own. 

Personal  attachment  to  Louis  XVI.  was,  however,  very 
general  in  the  United  States,  for  the  services  he  had  so  lately 
rendered  us ;  and  many  no  doubt  thought  it  likely  that  a 
British  Constitution,  with  a  limited  monarchy,  would  be  the 
blessing  France  would  derive  from  the  Revolution.  The  vio- 


THOMAS  WATERS  GRIFFITH.  \"J 

lent  acts  of  revenge  which  were  committed  against  families 
residing  in  chateaux  in  the  country  were  not  fully  known  to 
us  ;  and  by  this  time  they  had  partially  ceased,  the  great  body 
of  the  nobles  having  emigrated.  The  converting  of  the  im- 
mense tracts  of  land  held  by  the  clergy  and  the  monks  to  the 
relief  of  poor  cures  and  their  parishioners,  long  oppressed  by 
taxation,  was  approved  by  our  own  people,  many  of  whom 
looked  on  these  things  as  a  repetition  of  what  had  been 
done  in  England  in  the  days  of  the  Reformation  by  our 
ancestors. 

My  grandfather  spoke  often  of  the  three  wars  in  which 
England  had  been  engaged  with  France  during  his  lifetime, 
one  of  which,  if  not  two,  had  brought  strife  to  his  own  door ; 
and  though  he  devoutly  prayed  that  peace  should  pervade 
the  whole  earth,  he  foresaw,  as  he  often  told  us,  that  before 
his  death  he  should  see  another  war. 

During  my  frequent  visits  to  Philadelphia  I  had  seen 
among  my  relatives  a  young  lady  who  was  my  cousin  by  the 
mother's  side,  and  who  was  about  two  years  younger  than 
myself.  She  appeared  to  me  more  charming  than  any  other, 
and  she  seemed  inclined  to  favor  my  partiality.  She  main- 
tained a  regular  correspondence  with  me,  until  at  last  I  con- 
ceived that  I  had  only  to  ask  to  obtain  her  hand.  I  felt  I 
could  not  be  happy  without  her.  This  it  was  that  induced 
me  to  dispose  of  my  business  in  Baltimore  in  order  to  fix 
myself  in  Philadelphia. 

In  Philadelphia  I  persevered  in  my  attentions  to  my 
cousin  until  I  discovered  that  she  was  actually  engaged 
(and  had  been  so  for  some  time)  to  another  gentleman. 
This,  though  perhaps  a  fortunate  thing  for  a  young  man  in 
my  circumstances,  wounded  my  self-love  and  in  every  way 
did  me  an  injury.  Possibly  my  vanity  may  have  led  me  to 
put  flattering  constructions  on  a  woman's  mere  politeness, 
though  I  still  think  it  was  not  excusable  in  my  fair  cousin  to 
continue  such  a  correspondence  after  an  engagement  without 
an  avowal  of  it ;  nor  do  I  think  she  was  justified  in  soliciting 
my  influence  with  her  parents  in  favor  of  my  rival.  This  did 
not  reconcile  me  to  my  disappointment.  All  further  inter- 


1 8  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

course  ceased  from  that  moment ; l  and  as  absence  and  new 
faces  were  most  likely  to  obliterate  the  recollection  of  her 
attractions  from  my  mind,  I  decided,  as  I  have  said,  to  seek 
my  fortunes  in  France,  taking  leave  of  my  relatives,  and 
especially  of  my  dear  and  aged  grandfather,  who  parted  from 
me  with  much  solemnity,  warning  me  to  be  careful,  sober, 
and  just  in  my  transactions ;  to  put  my  trust  in  God ;  and  to 
remember  that  if  (as  he  said)  the  rolling  stone  should  gather 
no  moss,  there  was  always  a  home  for  me  under  his  roof  in 
Philadelphia.  As  for  me,  the  tears  rushed  down  my  cheeks 
as  from  the  eyes  of  a  child  six  years  old. 

Georgetown,  in  the  District  then  laid  out  for  the  seat  of 
our  General  Government,  being  the  best  place  in  which  to 
purchase  good  yellow  tobacco,  I  went  there,  and  embarked 
seventeen  hogsheads  in  the  hope  of  making  something  by 
them,  and  I  sailed  with  them  in  the  ship  "  George,"  Captain 
Wildes,  belonging  to  Mr.  Theodore  Lyman  of  Boston,  at  the 
latter  end  of  August,  1791. 

Before  the  ship  had  been  long  at  sea  the  necessity  of 
a  superintending  Providence  impressed  itself  upon  my  mind, 
and  I  forever  ceased  to  consider  it  a  matter  of  indifference 
whether  there  were  twenty  gods,  or  the  One  God. 

Our  passage  was  boisterous  and  tedious.  Anxious  to 
learn  the  situation  of  affairs  in  Europe  that  I  might  judge 
of  my  future  prospects,  I  persuaded  the  captain  to  land  me 
at  Dover,  whence  I  went  on  by  a  night  coach  to  London. 

In  London,  besides  attending  to  my  business,  I  did  the 
usual  sight-seeing,  catching  a  glimpse  amongst  other  things 
of  King  George  III.  as  he  skipped  into  his  carriage,  and  was 
amazed  by  the  rapidity  of  his  movements. 

In  London  an  American  gentleman  associated  in  the 
shipping  business  at  Havre,  with  Mr.  Francis  Taney,  pro- 
posed to  me  to  assist  them  for  a  while.  I  was  glad  to  accept 
this  offer,  but  I  knew  I  could  not  be  very  useful  to  them,  nor 
prosecute  my  intention  of  establishing  myself  in-  France, 

1  The  miniature  of  this  lady  now  hangs  over  my  mantel-piece.  It 
was  taken  from  his  pocket-book  after  his  death,  fifty  years  after  the 
cruel  disappointment  he  has  here  recorded.  —  E.  W.  L. 


THOMAS  WATERS  GRIFFITH.  ip 

until  I  had  acquired  a  more  familiar  knowledge  of  the  lan- 
guage of  the  country  than  I  had  been  able  to  obtain  by 
reading  and  translating  "  Te'temaque." 

Although  it  was  the  close  of  1791,  and  the  Revolution 
was  well  on  its  way  in  Paris  and  its  surrounding  provinces, 
Normandy  was  not  very  much  disturbed.  Havre  was  still 
garrisoned  by  several  Swiss  regiments,  the  officers  of  which 
were  very  accomplished,  and  maintained  excellent  discipline  ; 
but  the  National  Guard,  lately  established,  performed  some 
duties,  and  as  every  one  was  obliged  to  serve  in  this  new 
militia,  if  called  upon,  I  did  not  find  myself  exempt,  and 
had  to  engage  a  substitute  from  time  to  time. 

After  staying  some  weeks  in  Havre,  I  decided  to  go  to 
Bolbec,  about  twenty  miles  distant  from  it  on  the  Paris 
road,  where  a  respectable  school  was  kept  by  a  priest,  still 
unmolested,  in  an  old  abbey.  Most  of  the  scholars  were 
the  young  sons  of  West  Indian  planters. 

I  found  the  landscape  in  Normandy  rural  and  pleasing. 
The  highways  were  excellent.  The  country  was  studded 
with  farmhouses  surrounded  by  apple  orchards.  I  saw,  too, 
young  children  leading  cows  to  pasture  by  the  wayside. 
But  I  was  surprised  to  learn  that  no  butter  was  made  to  sell. 

Bolbec  had  a  cotton  factory,  for  Normandy  is  manufac- 
turing as  well  as  agricultural.  I  found  there  a  young  gentle- 
man from  Boston  of  the  Russell  family,  who,  like  myself,  was 
boarding  in  this  quiet  village  for  the  sake  of  learning  French. 
We  were  received  into  the  house  of  a  surveyor  who  occupied 
part  of  the  old  abbey,  and  we  paid  at  the  rate  of  $260  a 
year  for  board  and  instruction,  the  young  ladies  of  the  family 
undertaking  the  latter,  though  we  also  hired  the  services  of 
a  master. 

I  made  such  progress  that  at  the  end  of  two  months  I 
was  able  to  return  to  Havre ;  and  from  that  time  I  was  able 
to  speak  and  write  French  almost  as  if  it  were  my  native 
language.  ' 

Many  of  .the  characteristics  of  the  Normans  are  no  doubt 
derived  from  the  blood  of  their  Norse  ancestors.  Amongst 
the  French  they  are  distinguished  by  their  sagacity  and  love* 


20  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

of  cider,  to  which  the  climate,  being  colder  than  most  other 
parts  of  France,  may  incline  them.  I  found  them  a  plain, 
industrious,  frugal  people,  clad  as  their  ancestors,  it  was  said, 
had  been  from  time  immemorial,  in  drab  cloth,  broad- 
brimmed  hats,  and  wooden  shoes.  The  females  owe  to  the 
climate  the  fairest  complexions  in  France.  They  all  wear 
pyramidal  caps,  of  muslin  or  lace,  with  lappets  hanging 
down  the  back.  Their  weddings  are  almost  as  solemn  as 
their  funerals.  They  go  to  church  in  pairs,  youths  and 
girls ;  but  on  their  return  the  friends  of  the  bridal  couple 
keep  open  house  with  feasting  and  dancing  for  many  days. 

The  poultry,  fruit,  and  meats  of  Normandy  are  excellent ; 
fish  and  oysters  also  are  procured  from  the  British  Channel. 
Normandy  left  to  itself  would  never  have  become  revolution- 
ary. Its  people  were  conscious  of  no  intolerable  oppression. 

So  far  the  events  in  Paris  had  been  to  the  quiet  inhabitants 
of  Bolbec  little  more  than  mere  news.  It  will  be  recollected 
that  in  the  summer  of  1791  Louis  XVI.  had  been  stopped 
near  the  frontier  at  Varennes  in  an  attempt  to  fly  from 
France,  and  that  he  was  brought  back  to  Paris.  There  the 
uncertainty  felt  as  to  his  real  views  was  the  cause  of  sus- 
picion. Doubts  marred  the  enjoyment  that  the  nation  had 
begun  to  take  in  the  Constitution  and  the  new  state  of 
things. 

News  of  the  flight  to  Varennes,  which  took  place  June 
21,  had  not  reached  America  at  the  close  of  August,  when  I 
began  my  voyage,  so  that  I  was  quite  ignorant  of  what  had 
so  materially  changed  the  face  of  affairs.  I  began  to  find  it 
difficult  to  form  any  opinion  concerning  the  Revolution  in 
progress.  On  this  subject  I  found  my  two  most  intimate 
French  acquaintances  —  the  surveyor  and  the  abbe  —  at 
variance,  but  with  this  difference  :  the  surveyor  was  boister- 
ous and  outspoken  enough,  while  the  abbe"  was  afraid  to 
say  much,  even  to  Russell  and  myself,  because  we  were  not 
subjects  of  a  monarchy.  With  my  friends  at  Havre  I  con- 
tinued to  hope  for  the  success  of  the  liberal  principles 
intended  to  be  established  by  the  new  Constitution,  without 
reference  to  a  republican  form  of  government,  such  as  had 


THOMAS   WATERS  GRIFFITH.  21 

been  established  in  our  own  country.  And  these  appeared 
to  be  the  sentiments  of  the  merchants  and  people  with  whom 
1  associated. 

At  Havre  and  at  Bolbec  I  accompanied  my  friends  to 
church,  for,  in  whatever  language  God  was  worshipped,  the 
place  was  sacred  to  me  ;  and  I  thought  I  gained  in  piety  by 
my  presence  there,  though  I  was  ignorant  of  what  I  heard, 
the  service  being  in  Latin  everywhere. 

The  commerce  of  Havre  was  chiefly  with  the  West  Indies, 
including  formerly  much  of  the  trade  in  unfortunate  Africans. 
Its  population  was  about  30,000.  It  had  two  churches  and 
a  small  theatre. 

In  the  spring  of  1792  I  left  Havre  for  Paris,  intending  to 
establish  myself  in  the  south  of  France,  the  place  to  be 
determined  by  what  I  might  see  in  the  capital.  War  had  by 
this  time  been  declared  between  France,  Germany,  Austria, 
and  Prussia.  Louis  XVI.  had  boldly  rejected  laws  which 
would  have  deprived  him  of  the  means  of  performing  acts  of 
charity,  but  now  felt  himself  compelled  to  sanction  war  against 
his  own  brothers. 

In  Paris  I  went  to  lodge  in  a  hotel,  rather  retired,  in  the 
Rue  Gue"negard.  I  waited  at  once  on  Mr.  Gouverneur  Morris, 
the  American  minister,  and  met  there,  among  others,  Com- 
modore John  Paul  Jones,  Joel  Barlow  the  poet,  James  C. 
Mountflorence,  and  several  more  Americans.  I  also  met  the 
Count  d'Estaing,  Saint  John  de  Crevecceur,  Esq.,  formerly 
consul  of  France  in  New  York,  and  his  son  Otto,  M.  Ray 
de  Chaumont  and  his  lady,  formerly  Miss  Cox  of  Philadelphia, 
and  Madame  de  Lafayette,  with  some  of  her  family,  but  the 
marquis  was  already  at  the  head  of  an  army  on  the  borders 
of  the  Rhine. 

Commodore  Paul  Jones  died  in  Paris  soon  after  my 
arrival  there  ;  and  I,  with  the  American  gentlemen  I  have 
named,  and  a  small  deputation  from  the  National  Assembly, 
attended  his  funeral.  His  interment  took  place  in  one  of 
the  common  cemeteries  of  the  town.  There  was  no  priest, 
nor  any  funeral  service,  but  a  few  soldiers  fired  a  volley  of 
muskets  in  honor  of  the  naval  hero  over  his  grave. 


22  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

My  stay  in  Paris  was  prolonged  by  my  great  interest  in  the 
stirring  events  of  the  time,  until  my  finances  became  low, 
when,  remembering  how  much  my  country  owed  to  France 
for  her  aid  in  resisting  England,  I  began  to  consider  a  plan 
for  joining  the  army  under  General  Lafayette.  I  looked 
with  admiration  on  the  services  the  general  had  rendered  to 
the  cause  of  liberty,  both  in  my  own  country  and  in  France. 
I  was  moreover  influenced  by  Major  Mountflorence,  who 
had  served  in  the  North  Carolina  Line.  I  therefore  agreed 
with  that  gentleman  that  we  should  consult  with  Mr.  Morris, 
our  minister,  and,  if  agreeable  to  him,  go  to  camp  with 
recommendations  that  he  might  furnish  us  to  General  Lafay- 
ette, and  obtain  suitable  employment  in  the  French  army, 
under  his  command,  if  possible.  But  Mr.  Morris,  though  he 
had  not  been  much  longer  in  France  than  either  of  us,  filled 
a  post,  and  occupied  a  station,  which  enabled  him  to  appre- 
ciate the  state  of  public  affairs,  and  see  further  into  futurity 
than  ourselves ;  besides  which,  genius  and  judgment  he  was 
known  to  possess. 

When  we  made  our  plan  known  to  him,  he  politely 
tendered  us  the  letters  for  Lafayette,  but  advised  us  most 
earnestly  to  decline  them  for  a  few  weeks,  declaring  propheti- 
cally that  the  Constitution  would  be  crushed,  and  the 
marquis  be  overthrown  with  the  king  at  the  same  time. 
This  counsel  alarmed  Major  Mountflorence  as  well  as  myself. 
We  agreed  to  postponement,  and  never  again  thought  of 
joining  an  army  towards  which  the  marquis  had  been 
accused  of  treachery,  and  from  which  at  last  he  was  forced 
to  fly,  having  risked  his  life  in  Paris  to  resent  insults  to  the 
king  on  the  2oth  of  June  preceding. 

The  blood  of  the  Count  d'Estaing,  Count  Dillon,  Count 
Beauharnais,  Baron  Custine,  and  others  whose  names  are 
recorded  in  the  annals  of  our  struggle  for  liberty,  was  subse- 
quently basely  shed.  They  were  all  men  to  whom  the 
American  people  owe  eternal  gratitude.  In  France  Louis 
XVI.  had  by  this  time  (July,  1792)  excited  feelings  not  only  of 
distrust  but  enmity  ;  but  Americans  thought  tenderly  of  Louis 
XVI.,  precipitated  from  his  throne,  —  that  throne  from  which 


GOUVERNEUR  MORRIS. 


THOMAS  WATERS  GRIFFITH.  23 

he  had  secured  the  independence  of  our  country,  after  hav- 
ing impoverished  his  treasury  and  risked  his  future  in  our 
cause. 

I  was  a  spectator  in  1792  of  the  celebration  of  the  taking 
of  the  Bastille  on  the  i4th  of  July,  1789,  three  years  before. 
The  celebration  took  place  both  on  the  site  of  the  demolished 
fortress  and  at  the  Champ  de  Mars.  At  the  latter  place  the 
patriotic  king  was  very  coldly  received,  and  the  name  of 
Lafayette  was  hailed  with  terms  of  reproach.  The  Emperor 
of  Austria  excited  no  fear  in  Paris,  but  recollections  of  the 
treaty  made  by  several  sovereigns  at  Pillnitz,  and  the  myste- 
rious conduct  forced  upon  the  king,  while  he  was  held 
almost  as  a  prisoner  after  the  return  from  Varennes,  produced 
no  little  anxiety  for  the  future,  to  get  rid  of  which  the 
populace  was  ready  to  join  in  whatever  movements  the  leaders 
of  the  Revolution  might  suggest.  It  was  not  at  this  time, 
nor  indeed  during  the  former  period  of  the  Revolution,  in  the 
power  of  King  Louis  to  have  upheld  the  monarchy,  nor  to 
have  prevented  the  coming  horrors,  even  had  he  been  the 
most  military  character  of  the  age,  and  as  little  disposed  to 
protect  the  rights  of  others  as  were  the  Revolutionary 
governments  which  came  after  him.  The  people  were  not 
disposed  to  unite  with  the  privileged  classes,  but  they  might 
have  been  compelled  to  do  so  if  the  nobility  and  clergy  had 
voluntarily  abandoned  their  feudal  privileges,  which  were 
oppressive  on  the  middle  class  as  well  as  the  inferior  orders, 
and  had  united  themselves  in  an  upper  House,  —  a  House  of 
Peers.  They  would  then  have  gained  over  or  neutralized 
the  middle  class,  and  have  prevented  the  populace  from 
•working  its  will,  thus  producing  a  salutary  reform  without 
violence  or  bloodshed.  Certainly  this  would  have  been  the 
case  had  they  taken  the  initiative  before  the  destruction  of 
the  Bastille,  —  nay,  possibly,  even  before  the  removal  of  the 
king  to  Paris  by  the  populace  on  Oct.  6,  1 789.  But 
after  the  masses  had  become  interested,  as  they  thought, 
in  the  extinction  of  everything  above  them,  and  had  ascer- 
tained the  effective  power  of  their  numbers,  no  mortal  wisdom 
could  have  stopped  the  wheels  of  the  Revolution.  Them- 


24  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

selves  only,  and  a  very  few  of  them,  gorged  with  the  blood 
of  the  moderate  party  in  May,  1794,  alone  could  have  brought 
about  a  counter-revolution.  Yet  even  then  soldiers  organ- 
ized to  put  down  massacres  always  trembled  for  their  lives 
in  the  event  of  their  own  success. 

The  factions  of  Orleans,  of  Pe'tion  Mayor  of  Paris,  of 
Brissot,  who  was  of  the  Philosophical  School,  of  Collot 
d'Herbois  the  comedian,  and  of  Danton  and  Robespierre 
(who  wanted  nothing  less  than  control  of  the  government), 
prepared  for  an  attack  which  they  had  planned  on  the 
palace,  by  calling  to  Paris  in  the  summer  of  1792  detach- 
ments of  ignorant  provincials,  who  were  told,  and  made  to 
believe,  that  they  would  receive  in  the  capital  complete 
military  equipments,  and  be  marched  to  the  frontier.  Such 
of  them  as  had  arrived  in  Paris  by  July  14,  1792,  received 
the  name  of  Fe'de"re"s.  They  attended  the  celebration  of  the 
day,  with  the  whole  body  of  the  National  Guards  of  Paris 
and  a  few  regular  troops.  The  king  and  his  ministers  were 
to  renew  their  declarations  of  fidelity  to  the  Constitution  on 
the  Champ  de  Mars  on  that  occasion. 

I  witnessed  this  act,  if  it  could  be  said  to  be  "witnessed" 
by  one  among  a  hundred  thousand  spectators  standing  upon 
earth  banks  at  least  two  hundred  yards  from  the  platform 
erected  in  the  centre  of  the  amphitheatre  for  the  different 
members  of  the  government  and  high  officers  of  the  city, 
civil  and  military.  The  king  was  but  coldly  received ;  and 
General  Lafayette  had  already  become  so  obnoxious  to  the 
populace  that  his  name  was  freely  contrasted  with  that  of  the 
Mayor  Pe'tion.  To  me  it  was  exceedingly  mortifying  to  find 
that  such  a  man  as  Pe'tion  had  supplanted  Lafayette  in  the 
confidence  of  the  majority  of  the  populace,  not  only  on  his 
own  account,  but  because  it  was  an  evidence  of  a  disposition 
to  disparage  early  and  devoted  patriotism,  and  exhibited  a 
disposition  incompatible  with  those  principles  on  which  the 
Constitution  was  founded,  or  the  existence  of  any  permanent 
government  derived  from  the  people  could  be  based. 

Nevertheless  the  general  made  one  last  effort  to  save  the 
government,  by  coming  from  camp  to  testify  his  horror  of 


THOMAS   WATERS  GRIFFITH.  2$ 

the  insults  offered  to  the  king,  and  to  advise  such  measures 
as  might  avert  another  2oth  of  June.  But  his  influence 
as  a  patriot,  which  could  have  dispersed  a  mob  in  1789, 
proved  now  unavailing,  and  it  was  scarcely  known  he  was 
in  Paris  till  he  was  gone.1 

Some  days  after  this  I  went  to  a  public  dinner  given  by 
Santerre,  an  officer  who  was  afterwards  Commandant  of  the 
National  Guard,  to  the  Fe'de're's,  on  the  Place  de  la  Bastille, 
of  which  State  Prison  there  still  existed  some  remains. 
The  men  all  thought  that  they  were  to  be  marched  to  the 
frontier  as  soon  as  a  sufficient  number  of  volunteers  could 
be  collected,  and  in  fact  they  were  soon  joined  by  two 
or  three  regiments  from  Marseilles  under  an  officer  called 
Westermann.  These  men  brought  with  them  the  celebrated 
Marseilles  Hymn,  first  heard  in  Paris  when  sung  by  them. 
They  had  committed  many  acts  of  violence  upon  their  route, 
and  brought  with  them  far  other  views  than  those  an- 
nounced by  the  air.  They  came  prepared  for  revolution. 

I  was  standing  on  the  steps  of  the  Church  of  St.  Eus- 
tache  when  they  filed  past  with  their  arms  and  baggage. 
Suddenly  I  was  told  in  a  very  peremptory  manner  to  take 
off  my  cockade,  which  was  made  of  ribbon,  as  were  other 
cockades  worn  by  many  citizens.  I  could  not  imagine  how 
it  could  offend  them,  since  to  be  without  a  cockade  was 
a  sign  of  sympathy  with  royalty,  which  no  one  would  have 
ventured  to  exhibit.  I  was  at  last  kindly  told  by  other 
spectators  near  me  that  I  must  get  a  worsted  one,  like 
a  soldier,  silk  being  considered  too  aristocratic  by  these 
advanced  radicals. 

Some  of  the  National  Guard  in  the  part  of  the  city  inhab- 
ited by  the  more  wealthy  and  more  loyal  citizens  encountered 
the  Marseillais  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  not  being  so 
ready  to  submit  to  dictation  as  I  had  been,  a  fight  ensued, 
in  which  some  lives  were  lost.  After  this,  in  order  to 
protect  the  Royal  Family  in  the  Tuileries  from  the  daily 
insults  of  such  pretended  patriots,  the  palace  was  repre- 
sented as  national  property,  and  the  terraces  of  the  gardens 

1  For  a  further  account  of  Lafayette  see  Book  VI.,  Chapter  I. 


26  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION1. 

were  encompassed  with  tricolored  ribbons,  instead  of  guards. 
The  tricolor  ribbon  was  respected,  and  the  mob  was  thus 
excluded  from  the  plots  of  ground  immediately  under  the 
windows  of  the  palace. 

The  Hall  of  the  Legislative  Assembly  was  a  wooden 
building  which  had  been  erected  for  a  riding-school.  It 
stood  on  the  north  side  of  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries,  and 
was  separated  from  it  by  a  terrace  thirty  feet  wide.  The 
hall  contained  a  gallery  for  spectators,  which  was  daily 
frequented  to  overflowing  by  men  and  women  of  the  worst 
description.  It  was  the  policy  of  the  leaders  of  the  factions 
to  gratify  these  people  by  bold  and  false  accusations  of  the 
government  and  every  person  the  government  employed. 
These  stories  they  knew  would  obtain  general  circulation, 
with  additions,  through  such  auditors.  It  was  in  this  place 
that  the  gravest  suspicions  were  thrown  out  against  the 
fidelity  of  the  king  and  the  virtue  of  his  consort.  With  the 
same  treacherous  view  General  Lafayette  was  slanderously 
charged  with  having  poisoned  some  of  his  soldiers  about 
this  period  ;  but  he  had  still  a  sufficient  number  of  friends 
in  the  Legislative  Assembly  to  procure  a  Committee  of 
Investigation,  which,  after  visiting  the  camp,  reported  that, 
if  any  of  his  soldiers  had  been  poisoned,  it  was  caused 
by  stained  glass  from  windows  in  a  church  in  which  a 
quantity  of  provisions  had  beeri* stored.  And  that  ended 
the  matter. 

Hearing  some  individuais  of  the  kind  I  have  mentioned 
as  frequenting  the  gallery  of  the  Legislative  Assembly, 
repeating  to  other  persons  who  were  walking  on  the  terrace 
of  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries  that  overlooks  the  river, 
these  refuted  charges,  I  ventured  to  explain  the  circum- 
stances. I  was  hooted  at,  and  thought  it  prudent  to  retire 
for  safety. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AUGUST   AND    SEPTEMBER   IN   PARIS   IN    1792. 

A  LTHOUGH  the  Municipal  Government  of  Paris  had 
•**•  petitioned  for  the  suspension  or  removal  of  Louis  XVI., 
and  their  petition  had  produced  no  action  on  the  part  of  the 
Assembly,  it  was  very  evident  that  his  removal  or  dethrone- 
ment would  soon  be  attempted  by  force. 

Early  on  the  gth  of  August,  1792,  the  tocsin  was  rung  in 
the  eastern  part  of  the  city,  and  in  the  suburbs ;  and  the 
National  Guard  was  assembled  at  the  bridges  and  other  sta- 
tions, while  the  Swiss  Guard  received  orders  to  defend  the 
palace  with  a  detachment  of  the  National  Militia.  At  the 
same  time,  gentlemen  attached  to  the  royal  family  and 
Constitution  went  to  the  palace,  prepared  for  what  might 
happen.  This  was  sanctioned  by  officers  of  the  Department 
of  the  Seine,  as  well  as  by  the  Municipal  Government,  and 
indeed  by  a  majority  of  the  Legislature.  Some  members, 
however,  plotted  very  successfully  to  detain  many  of  the 
Swiss  Guard  at  their  barracks  in  the  country,1  leaving  only 
about  eight  hundred  of  the  Guard  at  the  palace  under  Major 
Bachman,  who,  with  the  National  Guard  (there  were  at  that 
time  no  regular  troops  in  Paris),  were  under  the  command 
of  M.  Mandat. 

I  went  at  nightfall  with  Mr.  Corbin,  a  young  gentleman 
from  Virginia  who  had  lately  become  my  fellow-lodger,  to 
ascertain  in  the  streets  what  was  likely  to  happen.  We  went 
first  to  the  Jacobin  Club,  the  seat  of  the  chief  faction.  It 

1  We  now  know  that  the  larger  part  of  the  Swiss  Guard  was  de- 
tained at  Courbevoie  on  the  Seine,  to  serve  as  escort  to  the  king  and 
his  family,  who,  it  was  hoped,  might  take  advantage  of  arrangements 
made  to  effect  their  escape.  —  E.  W.  L. 


28  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

was  at  the  old  convent  of  the  Jacobite  monks.  Then  we 
went  to  the  Place  du  Carrousel,  on  the  east  front  of  the 
palace.  The  Hall  of  the  Jacobins,  into  which  we  were  ad- 
mitted, —  for  we  had  disguised  ourselves  as  Fe'de're's,  —  con- 
tained a  few  other  such  volunteers.  Some  private  letters 
from  soldiers  in  the  camp  were  read ;  and  it  was  declared 
during  the  debate  that  the  mob  waited  only  for  the  legis- 
lators to  lead  it  on,  to  commence  an  attack  on  the  palace ; 
also,  that  even  then  the  Sections  were  assembled  at  their 
several  Section-houses. 

The  king's  guards  were  under  arms  in  the  Carrousel  when 
we  quitted  the  Jacobin  Club  late  at  night,  and  we  felt  per- 
suaded that  with  these  men  at  their  posts,  the  assailants,  if 
they  did  attack,  would  be  repulsed. 

By  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  however,  the  crowd  of 
Fede'res  and  rabble  had  so  swollen  that  the  mob  began  the 
attack  by  a  discharge  of  artillery  on  the  guards  within  the 
Carrousel.  I  was  not  awake  until  I  heard  the  reports  of 
the  cannon ;  for  I  had  not  retired  until  morning,  having 
passed  the  night  in  the  streets.  I  rose  immediately,  and 
proceeded  to  the  Quai  opposite  the  Louvre,  where  I  saw 
as  much  of  the  contending  parties  as  I  could  have  done 
from  any  place  in  the  city.  I  could  not,  however,  see  the 
Swiss  or  others  stationed  behind  or  within  the  palace.1 
Danton  and  his  coadjutors  had  forced  the  city  authorities 
to  give  up  their  scarfs  of  office  and  resign  their  commis- 
sions to  them.  Placing  the  mayor  under  arrest,  they 
assumed  his  functions,  ordering  the  National  Guard  to 
"  dismiss,"  and  M.  Mandat,  their  commander,  to  repair  to 
the  Hotel  de  Ville.  There,  when  he  appeared,  he  was  in- 
stantly murdered. 

The  officers  of  the  National  Guard,  being  thus  left  without 
a  head,  became  confused,  and  the  men  left  their  posts  for 
their  homes.  Scarcely  one  man  in  uniform  appeared  among 
the  mob,  who  had  compelled  many  private  individuals,  and 
even  strangers,  to  join  them.  Among  these  was  one  of  my 

1  For  an  account  of  what  was  going  on  within  the  palace,  see  a 
subsequent  extract  in  this  book  from  Carlyle's  "  French  Revolution." 


AUGUST  AND  SEPTEMBER  IN  PARIS.  29 

friends,  a  young  doctor  from  Annapolis,  who  lodged  at  the 
southeastern  extremity  of  the  city.  They  furnished  him 
with  a  pike. 

The  Swiss  Guard  at  the  palace  continued  to  fight  after  the 
royal  family  had  been  escorted  by  a  deputation  from  the 
Assembly  to  the  Hall  of  Legislation,  for  they  had  not  received 
the  order  given  by  the  king  to  cease  firing ;  and  they  actu- 
ally drove  the  rabble  to  some  distance  in  every  direction. 
The  mob,  however,  after  reinforcements  had  arrived,  rallied 
and  got  possession  of  the  palace,  after  killing  most  of  the 
Swiss  and  many  of  the  National  Guard,  besides  private  gen- 
tlemen. This  they  were  better  able  to  effect  because  some 
of  the  National  Guards,  who  were  enraged  at  seeing  men  in 
the  mob  wearing  their  own  uniform,  united  with  the  Swiss, 
and,  being  fired  on,  seemed  under  some  necessity  to  take 
part  to  save  themselves. 

After  pillaging  the  palace  for  a  few  hours,  and  conducting 
about  two  hundred  Swiss  to  prison,  the  mob  retired ;  and 
the  city  became  suddenly  more  quiet  than  it  had  been  for 
weeks  before. 

My  friend  Mr.  Corbin,  after  we  had  viewed  the  flames 
which  were  set  to  the  barracks  in  the  Carrousel,  on  meeting 
some  of  the  rabble  patrolling,  and  others  with  heads  upon 
pikes,  became  alarmed.  The  insurgents  not  having  had 
time  to  mature  their  plans  of  vengeance,  the  gates  of  the 
city  remained  open  ;  so  he  departed  for  Havre  that  same 
day.  I  accompanied  him  in  a  hackney-coach  across  the 
river  to  the  stage  office.  Our  hack  had  just  brought  a 
wounded  lodger  to  our  house  who  had  escaped  from  the 
palace.  Few  carriages  were  to  be  seen  on  the  streets  except 
those  conveying  public  characters,  and  the  one  we  procured 
demanded  double  the  usual  fare. 

The  gentlemen  who  had  devoted  themselves  to  the  king 
and  Constitution  by  becoming  members  of  the  Cabinet  were 
arrested,  and  were  soon  after  tried  and  executed.  Clermont- 
Tonnerre,  and  perhaps  some  others  who  had  opposed  the 
Revolution,  were  assassinated  in  the  streets.  It  was  indeed 
certain  death  to  appear  well  dressed ;  and  the  Swiss  soldiers, 


30  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

whose  uniform  was  scarlet,  could  not  find  refuge  or  safety 
anywhere  but  in  prison. 

Notwithstanding  these  untoward  circumstances,  I  trav- 
ersed the  field  of  battle  and  made  my  way  into  the  palace, 
where  the  pavement  was  stained  with  blood.  I  was  there, 
indeed,  before  all  the  bodies  of  the  dead  had  been  removed. 

The  public  were  not  permitted  to  know  how  many  fell  on 
either  side  ;  but  as  several  hundred  Swiss  had  spent  their 
ammunition  before  they  died  or  surrendered,  the  whole  num- 
ber of  victims  must  have  amounted  to  several  thousand. 

Entering  the  gallery  of  the  Assembly,  which  was  filled  with 
even  worse-looking  people  than  usual,  I  saw  for  the  first  time 
Louis  XVI.  and  part  of  his  family,  in  a  box  used  by  the 
reporters.  The  king  was  short  and  robust,  of  a  countenance 
mild  and  pleasing ;  the  queen  tall,  graceful,  and  handsome  ; 
the  king's  sister  plain,  but  dignified  ;  and  the  children  deli- 
cate and  interesting.  None  of  them  manifested  any  idea  of 
the  horrid  fate  which  awaited  them,  but  seemed  willing  to 
conciliate  the  members  by  their  condescension,  —  without 
any  effect,  however,  at  least  upon  my  neighbors  in  the  gal- 
lery ;  one  of  whom  (and  a  female,  too)  did  not  hesitate  to 
call  the  prince  a  bastard,  and  no  better  than  his  mother. 

Returning  the  next  day  to  the  vicinity  of  the  Hall  of  the 
Assembly,  I  saw  the  unfortunate  royal  family  set  out  in 
carriages  for  the  Temple,  which  was  formerly  a  royal  castle, 
but  by  this  time  converted  into  a  prison.  It  was  situated  in 
a  remote,  but  thickly  settled,  part  of  the  city. 

Wishing  my  friends  in  America  to  be  acquainted  with 
these  acts,  beginning  with  what  I  had  seen  of  the  reception 
of  the  king  at  the  Champ  de  Mars, — events  which  termi- 
nated the  Constitution  and  the  Constitutional  Monarchy,  — 
I  printed  an  account  of  them  in  1795,  an<^  sent  a^  tne  copies 
to  America. 

After  I  had  seen  the  things  I  have  described,  I  went  to 
wait  on  Mr.  Gouverneur  Morris,  our  ambassador.  I  found 
at  his  house  a  number  of  gentlemen  and  ladies,  who  from 
former  intercourse  with  America,  and  in  many  cases  services 
rendered  to  the  United  States,  considered  themselves  en- 


AUGUST  AND  SEPTEMBER  IN  PARIS.  31 

titled  to  protection  in  the  hotel  of  the  minister.  Mr. 
Morris  had  had  no  communication  with  the  authorities,  nor 
had  he  even  been  in  the  streets  from  the  commencement  of 
the  insurrection,  and  he  expressed  some  surprise  at  the  dis- 
guise I  had  assumed  to  avoid  giving  offence  to  the  populace. 
After  he  had  received  my  explanation  and  had  learned  my 
views  of  the  situation,  he  took  me  into  the  adjoining  room, 
and  there  stated  to  me  in  the  following  terms,  as  nearly  as 
I  can  recollect :  "  The  persons  you  have  seen,  six  or  more 
individuals,  who  have  rendered  services  to  our  country,  or 
are  related  to  such  persons,  consider  themselves  in  danger 
in  their  homes,  and  have  taken  refuge  in  my  house.  Whether 
they  will  be  disappointed  of  safety  here  I  cannot  tell.  I 
call  you  to  witness,  Mr.  Griffith,  if  my  protection  of  these 
persons  should  become  a  matter  of  reproach  to  me,  here  or 
at  home  (and  I  have  reason  to  expect  it  will,  from  what  I 
have  already  experienced),  that  I  did  not  invite  them  to 
come,  but  that  I  will  not  put  them  out  now  that  they  are 
here,  let  the  consequences  be  what  they  may."  A  deter- 
mination which  I  considered  fully  justified  as  much  by 
patriotism  as  by  private  feeling.  And  so  I  expressed  my- 
self to  the  minister. 

The  frightful  massacres  that  in  three  weeks  followed  the 
insurrection  of  the  loth  of  August  were  precipitated  by  the 
manifesto  issued  by  the  Duke  of  Brunswick,  and  the  ap- 
proach of  the  Prussian  army  to  Paris.  There  was  a  wide- 
spread apprehension  that  French  generals  would  betray  the 
nation.  Such  a  report  was  diligently  circulated  by  the 
Revolutionists  in  the  Assembly,  and  sustained  by  inferior 
officers  in  the  army  who  wanted  promotion.  The  popula- 
tion of  Paris,  greatly  excited,  was  ready  for  insurrection, 
fearing  which,  many  respectable  citizens  set  out  for  the 
French  camp  to  establish  a  character  for  patriotism,  and 
place  themselves  above  suspicion.  By  this  they  also  hoped 
to  place  their  families  under  the  protection  of  the  Revolu- 
tionists. This  seriously  diminished  the  number  of  well-dis- 
posed citizens  in  Paris  who  might  have  been  the  king's 
defenders. 


32  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

For  some  time  after  the  loth  of  August  the  gates  of  Paris 
were  closed,  and  no  one  was  permitted  to  leave  the  city, 
as  it  was  intended  to  hunt  out  and  take  vengeance  on  a 
number  of  persons  who,  from  their  rank  in  life,  their  pro- 
fession, their  talents,  or  their  political  sentiments,  were  ob- 
noxious to  the  insurgents.  Members  of  the  late  Cabinet, 
who,  from  devotion  to  the  Constitution  or  the  king,  had 
recently  accepted  office,  were  the  first  victims,  and  some 
were  murdered  in  the  streets  without  the  formality  of  a  trial ; 
others  were  crowded  into  the  common  jails  to  be  massacred 
collectively. 

It  was  on  September  2,  when  several  hundred  priests  of  all 
ages,  and  gentry  of  all  ages  and  both  sexes,  had  been  thus 
collected,  that  the  leaders  were  selected,  the  judges  and 
executioners  were  chosen,  and  a  band  of  hardened  villains 
were  sent  to  the  prison  of  I^a  Force,  to  the  Abbaye,  and  to 
others  to  commence  their  fiendish  operations. 

I  was  tempted  to  go  to  the  Abbaye,  but  was  stopped  by 
my  landlord,  a  most  worthy  citizen,  who,  returning  himself 
when  he  found  it  was  no  longer  safe  to  look  on,  brought  me 
back  to  the  hotel,  which  was  not  very  far  from  the  Abbaye. 
Many  thousands  of  the  citizens  of  Paris  remained  ignorant 
of  the  horrors  then  enacted  within  its  walls,  until  they  saw 
the  remains  of  slaughtered  men  and  women  paraded  through 
the  streets. 

I  myself  was  at  dinner  on  one  of  those  days  with  Messrs. 
Mountflorence  and  Anderson  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore",  nearly 
opposite  the  Palais  Royal,  then  the  residence  of  the  Due 
d'Orleans,  when  we  were  roused  from  table  by  a  noise  in 
the  street,  and  going  out  saw  the  head  of  a  female  borne  up- 
on a  pike,  and  the  fragments  of  a  human  body  dragged 
through  the  gutter  by  a  few  miserable  wretches  who  ap- 
peared infuriated  by  intoxication  and  joy.  Upon  inquiry 
we  found  that  these  were  the  lifeless  remains  of  the  young 
and  beautiful  Princesse  de  Lamballe,  whose  flowing  hair 
had  been  fashionably  dressed  after  her  head  had  been 
severed  from  her  body.  The  head  was  pushed  into  the 
faces  of  passers-by  upon  the  street ;  even  into  carriages 


AUGUST  AND  SEPTEMBER  IN  PARIS.  33 

containing  others  of  her  sex,  who,  as  may  be  supposed, 
were  for  the  moment  deprived  of  their  senses. 

Elated  by  their  success  on  the  loth  of  August,  excited 
by  the  defection  of  Lafayette,  and  terrorized  by  the  loss  of 
Longwy  and  Verdun,  strong  posts  which  had  been  captured 
by  the  Prussians,  a  Revolutionary  Government  set  itself  up 
at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  Robespierre  acting  as  president, 
Collot  d'Herbois  and  Billaud-Varennes  being  secretaries. 
The  massacre  of  the  prisoners  had  been  by  them  deter- 
mined on.  The  volunteers  were  crying  out  for  the  heads 
of  their  enemies  before  they  could  venture,  as  they  said, 
to  march  against  the  enemy,  and  leave  their  wives  and  chil- 
dren behind. 

Before  this  I  had  visited  Versailles,  about  twelve  miles 
from  Paris,  from  which  the  king  and  royal  family  had  been 
compelled  to  go  to  Paris  (Oct.  6,  1789)  about  three  years 
before.  It  was  said  that  Lafayette,  commanding  the  Na- 
tional Guard,  had  not  duly  protected  these  persons,  and 
that  he  should  have  done  more,  nine  weeks  earlier,  to  pre- 
vent the  shedding  of  blood  after  the  taking  of  the  Bastille. 
I  found  the  residence  of  the  king  most  splendid.  It  had 
not.  when  I  saw  it,  suffered  the  dilapidation  to  which  it 
afterwards  became  a  prey. 

I  went  also  to  St.  Denis,  a  small  town  six  miles  east  of 
Paris,  in  the  cathedral  of  which  had  been  deposited  the 
corpses  of  kings,  and  of  distinguished  soldiers.  The  tombs 
when  I  saw  them  had  been  all  plundered  to  obtain  lead  for 
munitions  of  war.  I  recollect  seeing  no  grave  but  that  of 
Turenne  undisturbed  ;  his  remains  were  afterwards  removed. 
I  saw  his  tomb  with  those  of  Voltaire,  Rousseau,  and  Mira- 
beau  in  the  old  Church  of  Ste.  Genevieve,  called  by  the 
Revolutionists  the  Pantheon,  and  dedicated,  as  its  inscription 
said,  "  to  the  memory  of  the  great  men  of  France  by  their 
grateful  country." 

It  was  about  this  same  time  that  the  city  government 
ordered  the  demolition  of  the  statues  of  the  sovereigns  of 
France  standing  in  different  public  places,  —  even  that  of 
Henri  IV.,  on  the  Pont  Neuf.  This  statue  was  equestrian  and 

3 


34  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

bronze.  I  happened  to  be  a  witness  of  the  outrage.  Work- 
men filed  the  legs  of  the  horse,  and,  with  a  long  rope  at  the 
neck  of  the  king,  brought  the  whole  down  with  a  tremen- 
dous crash.  The  same  spirit  effaced  the  initials  and  the 
insignia  of  the  kings  from  off  the  palaces  and  public 
buildings,  and  obliged  individuals  to  remove  all  armorial 
bearings  from  their  houses  and  carriages. 

The  horrors  of  the  months  of  August  and  September  and 
the  loss  of  rest  had  thrown  me  into  a  slight  fever,  and  the 
further  outrages  I  witnessed  determined  me  to  leave  Paris. 
Therefore,  a  few  days  after  the  gates  were  opened,  I  set  out 
with  a  passport  from  Mr.  Morris,  our  minister,  duly  counter- 
signed, in  company  with  a  fellow-lodger  named  Coulanges, 
who  had  obtained  an  English  pass  from  some  friend,  and 
who,  as  he  had  been  living  in  the  king's  palace  on  the  day 
of  battle,  thought  it  necessary  to  take  an  indirect  road  to 
reach  his  home  near  Rouen  in  Normandy. 

Until  then  I  had  usually  travelled  unaccompanied  by 
friends  or  acquaintances,  and  in  the  public  diligences.  The 
diligence  is  a  heavy  vehicle  having  room  inside  for  six  pas- 
sengers and  in  front  the  coupd,  which  holds  three  more,1 
also  a  covered  seat  on  the  top  for  one  beside  a  guard, 
called  the  conductor,  who  takes  charge  of  the  baggage 
and  goods  contained  in  a  basket  behind. 

The,  conductor  overlooked  the  change  of  horses  and  the 
conduct  of  the  postilions,  who  ride  on  one  of  the.  four  or 
six  horses,  booted  in  iron  or  steel.  The  horses  are  furnished, 
as  those  for  private  travelling  carriages  are,  at  the  post-houses, 
usually  about  six  miles  apart.  The  horses  belong  to  private 
individuals,  who  purchase  from  the  government  the  privilege 
of  furnishing  them.  The  diligence  travels  at  the  rate  of 
about  four  and  one  half  milesgan  hour,  but  the  two-wheeled 
carts  conveying  the  mail  go  about  six  miles  per  hour. 
Both  take  charge  of  valuable  effects,  of  which  they  guarantee 
the  amount,  if  paid  for  at  the  stipulated  premium. 

1  The  diligences  of  this  period  seem  to  have  had  no  rotunde,  a 
compartment  behind  which  carried  four  passengers.  Fifty  years  later 
the  baggage  was  placed  on  the  top  and  covered  by  a  tarpaulin. 


AUGUST  AND  SEPTEMBER  IN  PARIS.  35 

M.  de  Coulanges  and  I  now  hired  a  light  carriage,  and 
took  a  roundabout  route  for  Versailles.  In  the  evening  we 
saw  the  fire  made  for  burning  the  clothes  of  the  prisoners  from 
Orleans  who  had  been  brought  to  Versailles  to  be  massacred 
that  day.1  We  had  met  on  the  road  some  of  the  murderers 
in  wagons  lighted  by  torches,  and  bearing  the  heads  of 
several  victims  as  trophies,  or  rather  as  evidence  of  their 
claims  upon  their  employers  at  the  capital.  It  was  known 
that  some  obnoxious  gentlemen  had  been  collected  at 
Orleans  before  the  dethronement  of  the  king.  Orleans  was 
thought  to  be  a  place  where  they  might  be  constitutionally 
tried  ;  but  no  suspicion  had  been  entertained  by  me  or  my 
companion,  or  indeed  by  the  citizens  of  Paris,  1  believe, 
besides  those  accessory  to  the  horrid  scene,  of  what  was 
to  be  enacted  at  Versailles  on  Sept.  9,  1792,  or  that  travel- 
lers on  that  road  would  be  saluted,  as  we  were  that  evening, 
by  such  cannibals,  and  compelled,  as  was  usual  on  such 
occasions,  to  shout  applause  for  their  gratification. 

So  little  disposed  to  follow  the  example  of  the  people  in 
Paris  were  the  people  in  the  provinces  (now  the  departments) 
that  there  were  at  first  only  a  few  victims  in  the  southern 
towns  of  France.  To  excite  the  country  to  deeds  of  vio- 
lence, it  was  always  found  necessary  to  send  out  professional 
incendiaries. 

It  has  been  advanced  by  some,  that  if  the  morals  of  the 
French  people  had  not  been  neglected  by  the  clergy,  a 
disposition  to  countenance  such  horrors  could  not  have 
existed.  But  experience  does  not  often  make  people  wise, 
much  less  precept,  and  it  is  not  given  to  man  to  convert  the 
hearts  of  sinners.  Infidelity  had  been  for  fifty  years  in  the 
very  air  of  France.  The  cures  at  least  —  whatever  may 
have  been  the  case  with  the  higher  clergy — were,  in 
general,  so  virtuous  and  so  zealous  that  a  very  great  majority 
of  people  who  had  arrived  at  mature  life  (perhaps  nine 
tenths  of  them)  refused  to  abandon  the  Sabbath,  or  join 
in  the  worship  of  the  new  gods  and  goddesses.  They  re- 
membered their  priests  with  gratitude,  and  trembled  at 
1  For  an  account  of  this  atrocity,  see  a  subsequent  chapter. 


36  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

offences  which  violated  the  commands  of  the  true  God,  — 
the  God  of  their  fathers.1 

After  having  been  refused  admittance  to  several  public 
houses  in  Versailles  on  the  night  of  September  9  which 
followed  the  massacre,  we  wandered  about  the  city  seeking 
a  place  to  sleep.  The  city  seemed  deserted.  We  saw 
neither  man  nor  woman  until,  late  at  night,  we  were  kindly 
received  by  a  private  family  to  whom  M.  de  Coulanges  was 
known.  The  next  day  we  continued  our  journey  to  the 
bank  of  the  Seine,  below  St.  Germains ;  going  thus,  as 
it  were,  across  country,  that  we  might  not  be  suspected 
of  coming  from  the  capital.  We  also,  by  way  of  precaution, 
quitted  our  carriage  and  hired  a  boat,  proceeding  alternately 
by  land  and  water  till  we  reached  the  city  of  Rouen. 

There  M.  de  Coulanges  stopped  at  a  friend's  house,  bid- 
ding me  adieu  in  terms  which  plainly  implied  that  he  never 
expected  to  see  his  fellow-traveller  again  ;  which  in  fact  was 
the  case,  nor  do  I  know  what  became  of  the  unfortunate 
man,  who  probably  joined  his  amiable  wife  and  daughter  in 
Normandy,  and  I  trust  escaped  the  vigilance  of  his  enemies, 
since  Normandy  was  not  distinguished  by  such  acts  of  vio- 
lence as  other  parts  of  France  soon  after  exhibited. 

It  is  my  conviction  that  the  population  of  Paris  was 
as  well  informed,  and  had  as  correct  principles,  both  as 
to  politics  and  morals,  as  the  same  number  of  people  in 
any  place  on  the  surface  of  the  globe,  but  the  Revolution 
had  attracted  thither  philosophes  and  turbulent  spirits  from 
every  country,  and  these  were  the  more  ferocious  because 
they  had  no  personal  interest  in  the  welfare  of  the  nation. 
Uniting  themselves  with  a  few  Frenchmen  of  the  same 
general  character,  they  became  the  employers  of  all  the 
desperate  villains  ever  to  be  found  in  any  populous  city. 
Until  the  disorders  of  the  Revolution,  no  people  had  appeared 
more  contented  than  the  French  with  the  rational  liberty 
they  were  beginning  to  enjoy  under  their  new  constitutional 
government.  But  as  soon  as  both  king  and  Constitution 

1  See  an  account  of  the  French  clergy  exiled  to  England,  in  a 
subsequent  chapter. 


AUGUST  AND  SEPTEMBER  IN  PARIS.  3Jr 

were  overthrown,  the  real  patriots  —  the  men  whom  France 
and  the  world  looked  up  to  for  the  support  of  liberal  principles 
—  speedily  became  victims  of  the  anarchy  which  followed. 

Duly  appreciated,  there  is  in  every  society  a  great  dis- 
proportion between  the  wise  and  the  weak.  Even  in  Paris 
there  were  probably  fifty  ignorant  persons  for  one  possess- 
ing knowledge. 

I  reached  Havre  in  safety,  after  the  perils  of  my  journey 
from  Paris  to  Rouen,  and  resumed  commercial  speculations, 
chiefly  in  tobacco,  with  my  friend  Taney,  who  had  married 
into  a  French  family,  —  that  of  M.  Govain. 

I  was  in  Havre  during  the  month  of  January,  1 793  ;  in 
other  words,  during  the  time  of  the  trial  and  execution  of  the 
king.  Shortly  before  war  was  declared  against  France  by 
England,  I  went  to  London  for  the  purpose  of  attending  to 
the  purchase  and  shipment  of  tobacco. 

Whilst  in  London  I  attended  some  of  the  debates  in 
Parliament,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  Messrs.  Fox, 
Pitt,  Burke,  Dundas,  and  Sheridan  speak  on  the  declaration 
of  war  contemplated  against  France.  In  that  country,  the 
Royalists  and  Moderates  having  been  entirely  put  down,  the 
factions  in  the  convention  were  determined,  as  they  said,  to 
endure  nothing  but  a  republican  constitution,  and,  having 
killed  their  own  king,  carried  their  revolutionary  warfare  into 
every  country  subject  to  a  different  form  of  government. 

Although  the  interest  elicited  by  all  this  in  the  British 
House  of  Commons  was  calculated  to  bring  out  all  the  elo- 
quence and  talent  of  the  British  Senate,  I  did  not  think  at 
the  time,  nor  do  I  now  believe,  that  it  surpassed  what  I  had 
heard  not  long  before  in  our  American  Congress,  from  Ames, 
Madison,  Smith  of  Carolina,  Vining,  and  some  others,  on 
the  far  less  interesting  subjects  of  internal  taxation,  banking, 
etc.  The  speech  of  Mr.  Burke  was  calculated  in  my  opinion 
to  make  the  greatest  effect,  but  he  wanted  at  that  time  per- 
sonal influence,  for  his  desertion  of  the  Opposition  lost  him 
his  friends  on  that  side,  and  he  had  not  been  long  enough  a 
supporter  of  the  administration  to  obtain  confidence  from  its 
friends  outside  the  walls  of  the  Parliament  House. 


38  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

The  people  of  England  had  been  at  first  much  pleased  at 
the  prospect  that  the  French  would  model  their  government 
after  that  of  Great  Britain,  but  the  execution  of  King  Louis 
had  disgusted  them  generally,  and  great  pains  were  taken 
to  mamiest  their  attachment  to  King  George  on  every 
occasion. 

I  was  nearly  pressed  to  death  descending  the  steps  into 
the  pit  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre  (Drury  Lane  having  been 
destroyed  by  fire)  on  a  night  when  the  king  was  to  be 
present,  but  I  obtained  a  good  seat,  and  was  much  gratified. 
The  boxes  were  crowded  by  ladies  elegantly  dressed,  and  I 
thought  them  all  beautiful,  as  they  certainly  were  in  respect 
of  complexion,  compared  with  our  ladies  in  America;  but 
both  American  and  French  ladies  have  advantages  of  person 
and  expression  of  countenance  over  those  of  England. 

The  king  showed  the  greatest  delight  at  every  lively 
incident  the  play  afforded,  and  heard  the  national  air,  "  God 
Save  the  King,"  in  full  chorus,  until  he  was  tired,  and  waved 
his  hand.  Kemble,  Palmer,  Johnson,  and  Quick,  Mrs. 
Siddons,  Mrs.  Crouch,  Mrs.  Esten,  and  Mrs.  Jordan  were 
the  performers. 

After  a  pleasant  and  advantageous  visit  to  England,  where 
I  made  the  acquaintance  of  many  Americans  settled  in 
London,  I  embarked  with  my  tobacco  on  a  small  American 
craft,  which  took  some  time  to  make  the  voyage  to  Havre,  as 
she  grounded  repeatedly  before  getting  clear  of  the  Thames. 
My  venture,  however,  proved  very  successful,  and  I  made  a 
second  voyage  to  England.  By  this  time  war  had  been 
declared  ;  and  the  American  captain  of  the  scow  in  which  I 
sailed  landed  me  near  Dungeness,  for  the  sake  of  despatch, 
and  to  avoid  the  formalities  which  a  state  of  war  had  intro- 
duced in  the  admission  of  passengers  from  France.  But  the 
vigilance  of  a  guard  upon  the  beach  had  nearly  produced 
some  unpleasant  difficulties.  I  was  followed  closely  into  a 
smuggler's  hovel,  and  was  protected  from  arrest  only  by  the 
courage  of  my  host ;  the  red-coats  insisting  that  I  was  a 
Frenchman,  and  the  other  insisting  that  I  was  no  more  * 
Frenchman  than  any  of  themselves.  He  afterwards  engaged 


AUGUST  AND  SEPTEMBER  IN  PARIS.  39 

himself  to  carry  my  valise  to  Romney,  which  was  the  first 
post  town  beyond  the  Downs  —  or  sands. 

My  report  of  the  tobacco  market  in  France  was  so 
encouraging  that  other  American  merchants  in -London  and 
Liverpool  joined  in  shipping  a  considerable  quantity  to  our 
Havre  house.  Orders  in  Council  were  obtained  to  permit 
the  departure  of  our  vessels  with  their  cargoes,  but  I  was  not 
taken  before  the  Secretary  at  the  Foreign  Office  to  be 
examined  on  the  state  of  affairs  in  France,  as  was  usual  in 
such  cases.  This  voyage  also  yielded  our  concern  a  very 
handsome  profit,  and  my  share  placed  me  in  a  more  inde- 
pendent position  than  has  ever  been  my  lot  before  or  since. 
Mr.  Taney  effected  a  sale  of  the  tobacco  to  the  Government 
itself  for  the  use  of  the  French  army  and  navy,  which,  as 
usual,  received  rations  of  the  article,  and  had  been  likely  to 
come  short  of  supplies,  when  a  close  blockade  of  the  French 
ports  should  be  carried  into  effect. 

Before  leaving  London  I  joined  my  countrymen  on  the 
Fourth  of  July,  1793,  to  celebrate  our  independence  by  a  din- 
ner at  the  London  Tavern,  Bishopsgate  Street.  At  this  dinner 
there  were  about  eighty  gentlemen,  including  several  London 
merchants  who  were  attached  to  the  United  States  by  the 
interest  they  had  in  our  trade,  and  regard  for  the  sage 
republican  principles  of  our  citizens.  This  dinner,  not 
accompanied  by  music  or  any  outdoor  exhibitions,  cost  us 
a  guinea  apiece. 

Boston  vessels  before  the  blockade  continued  to  enter 
the  port  of  Havre ;  but  French  merchants  had  abandoned 
the  ocean  altogether,  and  it  was  lamentable  to  see  their  fine 
ships  crowding  the  docks,  never  again  to  be  sent  to  sea. 

About  this  time  I  abandoned  all  idea  of  establishing  my- 
self at  some  port  on  the  Mediterranean.  As  time  went  on, 
Mr.  Taney  became  alarmed  at  the  situation  of  affairs  in 
France,  both  commercial  and  political,  and,  contemplating 
a  return  to  America,  purchased  of  the  Count  d'Estaing  the 
lands  presented  him  by  the  State  of  Georgia.  To  receive 
the  money  due  by  the  Government  for  its  purchase  of 
tobacco,  and  commence  Mr.  Taney's  payments  to  the 


4<D  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

count,  I  again  went  to  Paris  ;  but  preferring  to  take  a  pass- 
port from  the  municipality  of  Havre,  to  whom  my  American 
citizenship  was  well  known,  I  left  behind  me  that  of  the 
American  minister,  because  it  was  no  longer  of  recent  date.1 
Affairs  in  France  had  grown  from  bad  to  worse  during  the 
first  nine  months  of  the  year  1793.  I  had  been  away  from 
Paris  about  a  year  when  I  returned  to  it.  The  debates  in  the 
Assembly  afforded  no  evidence  of  any  approaching  settle- 
ment of  the  Government ;  the  paper  money  was  falling  in 
value ;  and  every  citizen  between  the  ages  of  eighteen  and 
twenty-five  was  liable  to  be  marched  to  the  frontier  to  oppose 
the  Allies,  or  to  the  West  to  fight  Frenchmen.  In  its 
paper  money,  however,  and  in  its  conscription,  consisted  the 
strength  of  the  French  Revolution.  But  before  that  period 
France  had  long  been  a  first-rate  military  power.  A  love  of 
glory  animated  the  officers,  all  descendants  of  the  old  nobil- 
ity, who  kept  the  soldiers  under  them  in  strict  subordination. 
The  Revolution  stimulated  a  strong  desire  for  promotion 
in  the  subalterns  and  non-commissioned  officers,  many  of 
whom  became  colonels  and  generals,  while  a  desire  for 
plunder  stimulated  all  ranks  in  the  army,  from  officers  high 
in  command  to  private  soldiers.  Thus  the  battle  of  Jemappes 
was  successfully  fought  by  a  commander  who  had  never 
been  heard  of  before,  and  the  Prussians  and  Austrians  were 
discouraged  and  checked,  being  driven  beyond  the  Rhine 
by  other  generals  of  equal  previous  obscurity.  These  acts 
of  national  prowess  emboldened  the  Revolutionary  leaders 
in  Paris.  In  their  first  fright,  when  the  Prussians  were 
advancing  on  Paris  in  the  summer  of  1792,  they  committed 
the  horrors  of  the  prison  massacres,  and  then,  to  proclaim 
themselves  to  all  the  world  as  republicans,  they  proceeded 
to  execute  their  king.  Their  persecution  of  the  clergy,  and 
of  all  who  did  not  join  with  them  or  applaud  them,  was  the 
signal  for  civil  war,  which  broke  out  in  the  West  and  South 

1  It  is  highly  probable  that  this  passport  was  lent  to  some  escaping 
emigrt,  which  would  account  for  Mr.  Griffith's  subsequent  reluctance 
to  apply  to  Mr.  Morris.  The  narrative,  however,  is  careful  to  conceal 
this,  —  if  it  was  so.  —  E.  W.  L. 


AUGUST  AND  SEPTEMBER  IN  PARIS.  41 

of  France,  in  June,  1 793,  and  which  continued  with  occa- 
sional intermissions  from  that  time,  until  the  people  were 
prepared,  by  the  imperial  despotism  of  Bonaparte  and  his 
adherents,  for  the  peaceful  reign  of  Louis  XVIII. ;  to  which 
the  soldiery,  still  longing  for  spoil,  were  the  last  to  assent.1 

Elder  brothers,  lest  they  should  be  called  on  themselves 
to  go  to  the  frontier,  urged  their  juniors  to  go  to  camp  in 
obedience  to  the  infamous  law  of  the  conscription,  which 
entailed  tremendous  penalties  on  parents  if  their  sons  should 
desert,  so  that  more  than  a  million  of  Frenchmen  were  in 
the  field  by  the  second  campaign. 

No  treachery  to  the  nation  or  to  a  constitutional  govern- 
ment was  intended  by  the  people  of  Lower  Normandy  or 
of  Provence,  on  whom  cruel  vengeance  was  taken ;  nor  can 
the  name  of  Chouan  be  any  disgrace  to  men  of  Brittany 
or  Anjou ;  while  the  deplorable  fate  of  Charette,  Stofflet, 
Lescure,  Larochejaquelein,  Sombreuil,  Broglie,  Coster,  and 
Georges  Cadoudal  must  excite  the  sympathy  of  Frenchmen 
while  gallantry  and  self-devotion  receive  plaudits  everywhere. 

Soon  after  I  arrived  in  Paris,  I  went  out  to  Mont  Cal- 
vaire,  a  few  miles  from  the  city,  to. deliver  a  letter  to  M.  de 
Sulenef,  whose  son  had  lately  purchased  lands  in  Tennessee, 
and  had  embarked  from  Havre.  I  was  observed  by  the 
village  officials  with  a  suspicious  eye,  and  thought  by  them 
to  be  an  Englishman  liable  to  arrest.  Accordingly  I  was 
arrested  the  same  night  while  in  bed,  and  sent  under  charge 
of  a  gendarme  to  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety,  then 
composed  of  David,  Vadier,  and  others.  I  was  able  to 
save  myself  from  being  tied  and  dragged  after  the  mounted 
guard  by  hiring  a  cabriolet  for  both  of  us  to  ride  in.  This 
took  place  on  Oct.  17,  1793,  the  day  after  the  execution 
of  Queen  Marie  Antoinette. 

I  had  seen  that  unhappy  lady  the  day  before  carried  in  a 
cart,  as  I  stood  upon  the  Boulevard,  where  it  joins  the  Rue 

1  Mr.  Griffith  was  a  warm  adherent  of  the  Restoration ;  and  to 
him  Napoleon  Bonaparte  never  ceased  to  be  the  "  Corsican  monster." 
His  reminiscences  reflect  the  feelings  of  his  party  in  his  lifetime. 
—  E.  W.  L. 


42  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

St.  Honor£ ;  through  this  street  she  came,  and  down  by  the 
Church  of  the  Madeleine,  to  which  place  her  remains  were 
brought  for  interment  within  sight  of  the  place  of  execution. 
Misled  by  the  basest  slanders,  a  populace  who  on  her  arrival 
in  France,  twenty  years  before,  had  hailed  this  princess  with 
admiration,  upbraided  her  with  the  most  vulgar  epithets  as 
she  went  to  execution.  She  was  but  thirty-eight,  and  pos- 
sessed of  personal  charms  unequalled  at  her  time  of  life. 
Perfectly  resigned  to  a  fate  she  had  anticipated,  abandoned 
apparently  by  every  human  friend,  she  was  sustained  by 
heaven  and  viewed  her  enemies  with  the  calmness  and 
dignity  of  a  saint.1 

The  king  had  been  conducted  to  the  same  scaffold  only 
nine  months  before,  with  a  numerous  and  splendid  escort, 
but  Marie  Antoinette,  no  less  a  queen,  was  surrounded  by 
the  rabble.  Louis  was  conveyed  in  a  handsome  coach,  and 
in  court-like  dress,  accompanied  by  his  own  confessor ;  while 
she,  attired  in  a  plain  white  robe  and  cap,  was  seated  beside 
a  religious  instructor  unknown  to  her,  in  a  common  cart, 
her  back  to  the  driver,  like  the  vilest  convict,  and  no  one 
dared  to  utter  a  prayer  or  breathe  a  sigh  on  her  behalf,  but 
at  the  risk  of  his  life.  I  was  actually  forced  away  from  a 
situation  which  would  have  commanded  a  full  view  of  the 
guillotine  had  I  remained,  to  avoid  being  discovered  in  a 
state  of  agitation.  But  it  was  only  to  see  the  victim,  and 
not  to  witness  the  execution,  that  I  had  gone  there. 

Both  the  2ist  of  January  and  the  i6th  of  October  were 
days  of  mourning  with  all  the  respectable  part  of  the  inhab- 
itants of  Paris,  and  many,  to  testify  their  grief  at  what  was 
passing,  assembled  in  the  remotest  parts  of  their  houses  to 
bewail  together  what  none  of  them  could  prevent.  The 
Princess  Elisabeth  followed  her  brother  and  sister  to  the 
same  block.  This  princess,  sister  of  the  king,  had  lived 
estranged  from  the  world  in  some  measure  by  her  piety,  as  I 
heard  Mr.  Morris  feelingly  declare,  and  had  been  an  object  at 
which  even  the  tongue  of  slander  had  never  lisped  a  reproach. 

1  See  a   subsequent    chapter  on   the   queen's   imprisonment  and 
execution. 


CHAPTER   III. 

HIS   IMPRISONMENT    IN   THE    REIGN   OF  TERROR. 

T  RETURN  now  to  my  own  arrest.  .  The  Committee  of 
Public  Safety  was  too  much  engaged  to  examine  me 
when  I  was  first  brought  into  Paris,  and  the  guard  who  had 
arrested  me  was  told  to  bring  me  in  the  evening. 

I  spent  the  day  accompanied  by  this  guard  in  calling  to  in- 
form some  friends  of  the  predicament  in  which  I  found  myself, 
little  doubting,  however,  that  I  should  soon  be  discharged. 

Late  in  the  evening  I  was  examined  by  two  members  of 
the  Public  Safety.  They  were  ignorant  that  Great  Britain 
ever  permitted  commercial  intercourse  with  enemies  upon 
any  terms  ;  and  although  they  were  told  that  the  policy  of.  the 
English  government  induced  it  occasionally  to  exchange 
with  any  people,  friend  or  foe,  an  article  of  luxury  like 
tobacco,  with  whiqh  they  were  overstocked,  for  money  or  for 
other  raw  material,  they  would  not  understand  how,  by  thus 
disposing  of  American  produce  shipped  to  Englishmen  as 
a  remittance,  they  obtained  payment  of  debts  due  them  by 
Americans.  Such  intercourse,  however,  I  told  them  was 
only  permitted  to  neutrals,  such  as  I  was,  and  my  tobacco 
had  not  only  been  sold  for  the  use  of  the  French  army  and 
navy,  but  that  to  obtain  payment  from  the  French  Govern- 
ment was  the  principal  cause  of  my  visit  to  the  capital. 
They  then  inquired  for  my  American  passport,  and  on  being 
told  that  I  had  left  it  at  Havre,  on  receiving  that  of  the 
Municipality,  they  affected  to  doubt  the  authenticity  of  the 
latter,  or  hinted  that  it  might  have  been  obtained  by  some 
imposition  or  corruption.  They  therefore  sent  me  to  an 
old  convent  called  the  Madelonettes,  which  had  been  fitted 
up  as  a  public  prison,  my  detention,  as  they  stated,  being 
a  measure  for  the  public  security. 


44  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

Arriving  at  the  prison  late  at  night,  I  was  immediately  left 
in  a  room  on  the  ground-floor  with  a  number  of  indifferent 
characters,  without  light,  or  any  other  accommodation  than 
a  mattress  on  a  guard-house  bedstead ;  but  I  was  permitted 
on  the  morrow  to  join  the  prisoners  above  stairs.  There  I 
found  the  late  minister,  Latour  du  Pin,  and  a  number  of  the 
first  characters  in  France,  besides  some  of  the  best  perform- 
ers in  the  late  Royal  Theatre,  —  all  together  about  three  hun- 
dred males,  crowding  the  house  excessively.  In  two  or  three 
days,  however,  I  was  put  into  a  small  room  on  the  second 
floor,  which  in  France  they  call  the  first  story.  I  was  then 
admitted  into  the  Hall,  and  allowed  to  communicate  with 
the  other  prisoners  in  the  daytime.  I  was  supplied  with 
good  bedding,  bread  .and  water,  and  any  other  convenience 
or  refreshment  I  chose  to  pay  for.  Monsieur  M.  A.  Govain, 
brother-in-law  to  Mr.  Taney,  and  then  a  conscript,  happening 
to  be  in  Paris,  called  at  the  Madelonettes,  and  undertook  to 
direct  my  passport  to  be  brought  from  Havre  and  to  execute 
any  commissions  for  me  in  the  city. 

It  was  not  till  I  found  myself  separated  from  this  friend  by 
bolts  and  bars,  and  obliged  to  converse  with  him  from  my 
window  upstairs,  that  I  realized  the  feelings  inspired  by  im- 
prisonment. I  saw  in  many  of  my  companions  —  who,  being 
natives  of  France,  were  liable  to  every  persecution  —  all  the 
resignation  which  good  sense  and  an  innocent  conscience 
could  inspire.  Some,  indeed,  giving  themselves  up  to  their 
fate,  exhibited  a  degree  of  contentment  which  their  hope  of 
future  reward  alone  could  justify ;  others  alarmed  us  by  their 
joyous  manifestations  of  indifference, —  exhibiting  that  feeling 
in  songs  and  concerts  of  music,  till  even  the  keeper  of  the 
house,  who  fully  appreciated  the  malice  of  the  population 
outside,  dreaded  lest  he  should  be  visited  by  reproach,  or 
some  violent  attack  result  in  the  destruction  of  his  charges. 

Such  conduct  on  the  part  of  men  whose  lives  were  in 
jeopardy  might  induce  a  hasty  conviction  that  the  French 
are  essentially  a  vain,  visionary,  and  fickle  people  ;  but  more 
reflection  would,  I  should  think,  produce  a  contrary  effect. 
Resignation,  patience,  and  resolution  I  have  found,  I  may 


/N  THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR.  45 

almost  say,  uniform  traits  in  the  French  character.  I  passed 
seven  years  in  France,  observing  the  minute  actions  of  indi- 
viduals ;  but  others  might  draw  the  same  conclusion  from 
their  performance  of  literary  works  requiring  the  devotion  of 
a  whole  lifetime,  the  public  improvements  which  have  been 
carried  on  from  one  generation  to  another,  and  the  perfec- 
tion to  which  the  French  have  brought  many  of  the  arts  and 
sciences.  My  fellow-prisoners  considered  themselves  already 
beings  of  another  world.  The  degradation  of  their  country 
was  death  to  them,  and  they  had  no  desire  to  prolong  life 
on  the  terms  by  which  it  was  held  by  others. 

Becoming  at  last  somewhat  impatient,  I  ventured  on  the 
29th  Vendemiaire  (October  20)  to  address  our  minister,  Mr. 
Morris,  though  I  had  not  yet  received  my  passport  from 
Havre,  informing  him  of  the  circumstances  of  my  arrest,  etc. 

Mr.  Morris's  answer,  dated  October  21,  declined  to  attempt 
any  interference  until  the  passport  was  produced  or  satisfac- 
torily accounted  for ;  but  as  the  letter  is  at  once  an  evidence 
of  Mr.  Morris's  official  integrity  as  an  American  minister, 
and  his  skill  in  using  the  opportunity  to  counteract  the  sus- 
picions the  French  Government  had  thrown  out  against  him, 
as  leaning  towards  the  English  with  partiality,  I  give  it  as  I 
received  it.  The  letter,  of  course,  was  to  be  read  by  the 
prison  officials  before  it  was  delivered  to  my  hands,  and  was 
written  in  the  following  words  :  — 


MONSIEUR,  —  Je  suis  bien  fachd  de  voir  par  la  v<3tre,  du  29, 
que  vous  etes  detenu  prisonnier.  Je  crois  que  si  vous  aviez 
garde*  mon  certificat  ce  malheur  ne  vous  serait  pas  arrive".  II  me 
parait  tres  possible  qu'une  autre  personne  en  soit  le  possesseur, 
et  dans  ce  cas  cette  personne  vous  repre'sentera  dans  le  monde 
comme  vous  repre"sentez  cette  personne  dans  la  prison.  La 
Nation  Francaise  accorde  aux  citoyens  des  fitats  Unis  une  pro- 
tection pleniere,  mais  il  ne  faut  pas  en  abuser;  et  e'en  serait 
un  abus  de  demander  votre  liberte  avant  que  je  n'ai  la  certitude 
que  le  certificat  que  je  vous  ai  donne*  ne  soit  pas  k  la  protection 
d'un  Anglais,  ou  autre  Stranger,  ou  personne  suspecte. 

J'ai  1'honneur  d'etre,  monsieur,  votre  tres  humble  serviteur, 

GOUVERNEUR    MORRIS. 


46  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

In  this  letter  there  is  nothing  to  flatter  me,  but  I  give  the 
contents  entire  to  show  the  perversity  of  things  engendered 
by  the  Revolution,  and  not  to  lose  an  opportunity  of  holding 
up  to  public  gratitude,  as  far  as  depends  on  me,  the  slighted 
memory  of  a  statesman  by  whose  attention  I  was  honored, 
who  was  one  of  the  founders  of  our  Republic,  and  would 
have  been  a  credit  to  any  nation. 

On  October  24  I  sent  to  the  minister  my  passport,  and  on 
the  27111  the  Secretary  for  Foreign  Affairs  presented  to  the 
Committee  of  Public  Safety  his  demand  for  my  discharge, 
while  the  same  day  I  wrote  myself  to  the  Committee.  But 
Robespierre  and  his  agents  were  too  much  occupied  with 
hunting  up  victims  for  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal  to  pay 
attention  to  me,  or  to  the  minister.  Nor  was  more  atten- 
tion paid  to  a  petition  got  up  by  Americans  in  my  behalf, 
and  signed  by  Mr.  F.  L.  Taney,  Joel  Barlow,  Mark  Leaven- 
worth,  James  Jones,  and  Thomas  Ramsden  ;  unless  it  were 
to  transfer  me,  with  about  twenty  others,  —  old  men  and 
foreigners,  against  whom  there  were  no  specific  charges,  — 
to  the  old  Scotch  College  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Marceau, 
where  we  could  see  our  friends  and  enjoy  other  privileges 
not  known  in  common  prisons. 

Having  copied  the  first  letter  of  Mr.  Morris  in  justice  to 
him,  I  copy  another  in  justice  to  myself. 

A  PARIS,  Dec.  31,  1793. 

MONSIEUR, — J'ai  recu  votre  lettre  du  ier  Nivose.  J'ai  reclame" 
votre  libert^  a  plusieurs  reprises,  et  je  suis  persuade"  que  le 
Ministre  y  a  fait  attention.  La  derniere  fois  que  j'ai  eu 
1'honneur  de  le  voir  il  m'a  dit  que  le  de'lai  dont  je  me  plaignais 
devait  etre  attribue"  a  la  multiplicity  des  affaires  qui  occupent 
la  Committee.  Je  viens  de  lui  re"peter  mes  instances,  en  deman- 
dant qu'on  m'instruisse  au  moins  des  causes  de  votre  deten- 
tion. Des  que  j'aurai  re9U  une  re'ponse  quelconque  je  vous 
I'acheminerai.  Je  suis  tres  sensible  a  votre  malheur,  et  je  ne 
ne*o;ligerai  rien  qui  puisse  de"pendre  de  moi  pour  le  soulager. 
J'ai  1'honneur  d'etre,  monsieur, 

Votre  tres  humble  serviteur, 

Gouv.  MORRIS. 


IN  THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR.  47 

Colonel  Swan  of  Boston,  who  had  distinguished  himself 
by  some  well-written  letters  to  the  Marquis  de  Lafayette, 
which  were  printed,  was  approached  by  some  of  my  friends ; 
but  it  was  indirectly  hinted  to  that  gentleman  by  some  in 
power,  that  if  I  was  in  prison  the  best  service  he  could  ren- 
der me  was  to  let  me  be  forgotten,  for  fear  of  worse.  The 
same  cause  prevented  him  from  signing  the  petition,  which 
with  this,  and  one  other  exception,  contained  the  name  of 
every  one  of  my  countrymen  who  ventured  to  remain  in 
Paris. 

The  transfer  from  the  Madelonettes  to  the  old  Scotch 
College  was  made  in  hackney-coaches,  our  guard  gen- 
darmes. Four  prisoners,  tied  two  and  two,  were  in  each 
coach ;  but  as  I  happened  to  be  one  of  the  last,  our  guard 
concluded  enough  were  secured,  and  in  this  way  I  escaped 
the  ignominy. 

We  were  fairly  told  that  we  were  to  receive  great  indul- 
gences, but  the  old  French  gentlemen  had  no  little  suspicion 
that  we  were  actually  going  to  some  obscure  place  to  be 
murdered ;  and  it  may  be  said  that  the  information  given  us 
by  our  guard,  while  passing  through  the  more  populous  parts 
of  the  city,  was  not  reassuring.  We  were  told  that  should 
we  attempt  a  flight  they  had  only  to  call  upon  the  citizens, 
and  they  would  soon  prevent  our  attempting  it  a  second 
time. 

At  the  new  prison  we  had  free  intercourse  with  each  other, 
night  and  day,  and  the  air  of  a  spacious  garden.  Amongst 
my  chamber  companions  was  an  Irish  priest  of  the  name 
of  Kearney,  an  excellent  scholar  and  a  benevolent  man, 
under  whom  I  completed  my  French  studies,  and  from 
whom  I  afterwards  received  very  agreeable  attentions. 

There  were  in  the  house  about  eighty  gentlemen,  and  it 
happened  that  the  adjoining  house  was  the  English  Nuns' 
convent,  also  converted  into  a  prison  for  about  one  hundred 
ladies.  The  gardens  were  separated  by  a  high  wall,  and  we 
could  not  enjoy  the  conversation  of  the  ladies  ;  but  we  did 
not  fail  to  visit  our  belvedere  daily,  and  they  their  garden, 
from  whence  we  could  see  one  another,  and  thus  be  gratified 


48  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

with  part  of  the  pleasure  society  affords.  Among  the 
prisoners  at  the  Scotch  College  were  Sir  Robert  Smith,  Mr. 
Churchill,  son  of  the  English  poet,  and  a  Mr.  Cameron  of 
the  ancient  Scotch  loyalists,  besides  Mr.  Kearney,  the  Irish 
priest.  All  these  had  the  good  fortune  to  survive  the  rigor 
of  Robespierre.  This  was  not  the  case  with  all  my  compan- 
ions at  the  college.  One  young  man  from  Manchester,  with 
some  Frenchmen,  was  conducted  forth  and  executed  for 
attempting  to  make  his  escape,  —  as  I  understood,  —  but 
perhaps  only  to  make  up  the  daily  number  of  one  hundred 
and  fifty  victims,  on  whom  the  tyrant  exercised  his  vengeance 
just  before  his  fall. 

The  prisoners  in  Paris  were  supplied  with  bread,  fuel, 
mattress,  and  sheets ;  all  other  articles  of  necessity  or  com- 
fort we  found  for  ourselves.  Those  among  us  who  had  no 
means  were  supplied  by  those  who  had.  By  sending  to 
market  we  lived  at  small  cost,  —  my  expenses  from  the 
depreciation  of  currency  not  amounting  in  our  money  to 
more  than  fifty  cents  a  day,  including  the  contribution 
alluded  to.  Paper  money  was  plenty  enough,  but  the  unin- 
terrupted continuance  of  all  the  machinery  of  municipal 
government  is  matter  of  astonishment.  While  all  the  supe- 
rior posts  in  the  administration  were  either  in  a  state  of 
continual  change,  or  wholly  suspended,  the  inferior  officers, 
jailers  and  so  forth,  kept  their  places.  They  did  not  approve 
the  state  of  things,  but  they  dared  not  abandon  their  duties, 
especially  in  the  prisons,  so  well  did  they  and  their  employers 
know  that  complete  barbarism  would  have  taken  their  place, 
had  they  resigned  their  posts  into  Revolutionary  hands. 

In  the  convent  of  English  Nuns  were  the  wives  and 
daughters  of  several  noblemen,  and  a  number  of  other  young, 
beautiful,  and  respectable  ladies  of  good  families.  The  only 
difference  in  the  treatment  they  received  and  ours  was  that 
they  could  obtain  permission  to  make  visits  in  the  city  ;  but 
this  indulgence  was  of  little  use  to  them.  Their  relatives 
were  already  murdered,  in  foreign  countries,  or  in  other 
prisons. 

During  our  confinement  in  the  college,  the  British  and 


IN  THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR.  49 

Spaniards  were  forced  to  abandon  Toulon,  which  had  been 
given  up  to  them  by  the  persecuted  part  of  its  inhabitants ; 
and  the  event  was  signalized  by  demonstrations  of  real  or 
feigned  joy  among  the  prisoners,  who  were  furnished  about 
the  same  time  with  evidence  of  hostile  feeling  towards  them 
on  the  part  of  the  populace.  To  sustain  the  influence  of  the 
sanguinary  party  then  in  power,  the  bust  of  Marat,  who  had 
been  assassinated  some  months  before  by  Miss  Charlotte 
Corday,  was  paraded  through  the  streets,  followed  by  a  pro- 
cession of  some  thousand  people.  When  it  passed  the 
college,  the  prisoners  judged  it  advisable  to  appear  at  the 
windows,  and  there  exhibit  signs  of  commendation.  These 
were  approved  by  some,  but  others  in  the  procession  consid- 
ered our  zeal  officious  ;  and  in  the  confusion  there  arose 
no  little  apprehension  that  we  might  be  assailed  and  pro- 
miscuously murdered. 

I  believe  that  most  of  those  I  left  in  the  Madelonettes 
became  victims ;  but  only  a  few  young  men,  who  attempted 
an  escape  by  means  of  rope-ladders  after  I  left  the  Scotch 
College,  were  executed  or  brought  to  trial.  However,  the 
length  of  my  confinement  and  too  close  association  with 
some  of  my  fellow-prisoners  broke  down  my  health,  and 
brought  on  me  a  complaint  from  which  I  suffered  for  many 
years  after. 

Towards  the  middle  of  January,  1794,  Messrs.  Jackson  and 
Francis  of  Philadelphia,  and  Mr.  Joseph  Russell  of  Boston, 
came  over  from  England ;  but  one  of  them  having  taken 
charge  of  some  letters  from  emigres  to  their  friends,  it  was 
found  that  one  of  these  letters  contained  counterfeit  assignats, 
and  the  gentlemen  were  all  escorted  to  Paris  to  be  examined 
by  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety.  As  Republicans,  they 
had  expected  very  different  treatment.  Jackson,  who  had 
been  in  the  American  army,  was  not  easily  put  off  his  guard, 
but,  assuming  the  uniform  and  address  of  an  officer  lately 
attached  to  General  Washington's  staff,  obtained  his  audiences 
at  discretion,  and  prevented  the  imprisonment  of  himself 
and  his  companions  by  an  explanation  of  the  incident  in  a 
style  of  energy  and  innocence. 

4 


5O  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION-. 

About  the  same  time,  partly,  I  believe,  from  more  correct 
views  of  our  national  feeling  towards  France,  obtained 
through  Mr.  Jackson,  and  partly  from  returning  confidence 
in  our  minister  (at  least  in  his  official  acts),  the  Committee 
of  Public  Safety  took  up  my  business,  and  in  January,  1794, 
ordered  my  release  without  any  explanation  or  apology,  or 
any  more  ceremony  than  had  been  exhibited  at  the  time 
of  my  arrest.  By  some  accident  the  order  was  discovered 
by  Mr.  Ramsden  :  and  he,  in  a  very  friendly  manner,  took 
charge  of  it,  and  brought  it  to  the  prison  lest  there  should 
be  some  miscarriage,  and  I  should  not  have  the  benefit 
of  it. 

The  day  after  my  release  I  joined  Mr.  Barlow,  Major 
Jackson,  and  other  Americans  in  a  petition  which  they,  with 
leave,  presented  to  the  National  Convention,  praying  for  the 
release  of  Thomas  Paine  as  a  citizen  of  the  United  States, 
he  having  been  lately  imprisoned  as  a  British  subject.  Mr. 
Paine's  "  Rights  of  Man "  had,  with  his  former  writings, 
induced  the  French  to  believe  that  he  would  be  an  acqui- 
sition in  forming  their  government,  and  he  became  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Assembly,  though  he  was  unable  to  deliver  his 
sentiments  in  the  language  of  the  country.  It  was  an 
axiom  with  him  that  all  men  were  sufficiently  wise  to  dis- 
cover their  own  interests ;  and  as  every  man  had  an  in- 
terest in  his  own  liberty,  the  French  must  be  prepared 
to  enjoy  a  free  government.  Therefore  he  supported  the 
declaration  of  September,  1792,  that  France  should  abolish 
royalty  and  establish  a  republic.  But  being  destitute  of 
any  revengeful  motive  in  the  case  of  King  Louis,  Paine 
had  not  joined  in  voting  for  his  death,  and  thus  excited 
the  suspicions  of  his  colleagues,  who  sent  him  to  prison 
on  the  first  opportunity.  There,  possibly  to  conciliate 
those  who  professed  atheism,  he  prepared  his  pamphlet 
on  the  "  Age  of  Reason ;  "  but  he  was  miserable  under 
the  continual  apprehension  of  being  murdered,  and  bitterly 
accused  the  leaders  in  the  Convention  of  plotting  his  death. 

The  President  of  the  Convention  told  us  that  the  govern- 
ment considered  Paine,  who  was  born  in  Great  Britain,  sub- 


THOMAS  PAINE. 


IN  THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR.  51 

ject  to  the  laws  relating  to  countries  with  which  France  was 
at  war,  but  that,  appreciating  our  motives,  our  petition 
would  be  referred  to  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety.  He 
then  invited  us  to  the  honors  of  the  Session,  which  meant 
seats  within  the  bar.  But  not  a  few  members  hissed  during 
the  reading  of  parts  of  our  memorial,  in  which  Paine's 
attachment  to  republican  principles  was  asserted. 

At  the  head  of  the  committee  to  which  our  petition  was 
referred  was  the  noted  Robespierre,  a  dissatisfied  member 
of  the  bar  of  Artois,  who  had  been  a  member  of  the  first 
or  Constituent  Assembly.  He  was  assisted  by  Carnot, 
Barrere,  and  others. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  by  this  time  everything 
like  style  or  gayety  of  dress  was  abandoned,  both  by  natives 
and  foreigners.  Pantaloons,  short  boots,  round  hats,  and 
cropped  hair  were  altogether  fashionable  among  gentlemen  ; 
but  ladies  of  rank  or  fashion  were  entirely  shut  up,  or,  if  they 
appeared  in  public,  were  so  disguised  as  to  be  unknown. 

The  halt  of  the  Prussian  army  under  the  Duke  of  Bruns- 
wick, after  his  threatening  proclamation  had  stirred  up 
the  fury  of  the  French,  may  have  been  due  to  the  critical 
situation  of  the  king  and  queen,  but  I  have  never  been 
able  to  understand  why  the  British  minister  withheld  from 
the  insurgents  in  La  Vendee  and  Brittany  aid  that  he  could 
well  have  despatched  to  them,  after  the  destruction  of  the 
French  fleet  by  Lord  Howe.  In  my  opinion  such  aid  would 
have  far  better  helped  the  cause  of  England  and  her  allies 
against  France  than  the  subsequent  war  in  the  Peninsula. 
That  Mr.  Pitt  should  have  doubted  of  success  at  this  time 
and  in  this  manner  has  always  given  me  surprise,  though 
I  cannot  accuse  him  of  duplicity,  as  was  done  by  the  French 
Royalists. 

As  I  considered  that  the  partiality  of  my  countrymen 
towards  a  republican  form  of  government  had  led  them, 
to  mistake  the  character  of  the  French  Revolution,  I  could 
not  but  see,  in  the  declaration  of  neutrality  made  by  General 
Washington,  more  magnanimity  than  in  the  scanty  help  af- 
forded by  England  to  check  the  effusion  of  innocent  blood., 


52  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

and  prevent  a  generation  of  men  and  women  from  being 
delivered  over  to  anarchy. 

It  is  probable  that,  but  for  the  divided  state  of  public 
feeling  at  that  day  in  America  on  the  subject  of  the  French 
Revolution,  the  President  would  have  declined  to  send  a 
minister  to  France  when  the  government  of  the  Reign  of 
Terror  demanded  the  recall  of  Mr.  Morris ;  nor  would  our 
government  have  solicited  another  minister  frorn  France  to 
replace  Genet,  the  incendiary  who  had  insulted  General 
Washington  and  our  whole  nation.  Our  conduct  on  this 
occasion  countenanced  the  regicides,  and  encouraged  their 
successors  to  make  war  on  the  United  States  four  years 
later,  in  1798. 

When,  after  the  recall  of  Mr.  Morris,  Mr.  Monroe  ar- 
rived in  France,  he  found  himself  the  only  representative 
of  any  foreign  power.  The  smallest  republics  in  Europe 
evinced  their  displeasure  ;  the  American  confederacy  alone 
courted  the  friendship  of  Genet's  employers,  who  in  the  end 
plundered  the  people  who  thus  had  countenanced  them. 

Mr.  Monroe,  on  his  arrival  in  Paris,  finding  that  many 
of  the  miscellaneous  duties  that  fell  on  Mr.  Morris  could 
be  equally  well  performed  by  a  subordinate,  procured  the 
appointment  of  a  charge  d'affaires.  He  arrived  in  time 
to  witness  the  overthrow  of  Robespierre,  —  a  man  whose 
tyrannical  acts  were  supported,  if  not  often  suggested,  by 
some  of  his  colleagues.  These  men  suggested  atrocities, 
and  the  members  of  the  Legislative  Assembly  submitted 
to  such  acts  through  fear,  until  their  own  persons  were 
threatened ;  and  then,  seeing  no  other  relief  than  through 
the  overthrow  of  the  Jacobin  leaders  was  to  be  expected, 
they  gathered  courage  from  despair,  and,  making  a  virtue 
of  necessity,  they  called  to  their  aid  a  class  of  the  population 
they  had  long  oppressed,  and  a  counter  revolution  was  ef- 
fected, with  little  difficulty  and  almost  without  bloodshed. 

Soon  after  my  release  I  returned  to  Havre,  where  I  found 
Mr.  Taney  preparing  to  embark  for  America.  He  had  been 
arrested  by  order  of  the  government  a  few  days  before  ;  and 
although  he  had  been  speedily  released,  he  dreaded  worse. 


IN  THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR.  53 

The  American  ship  "  Caroline,1'  about  this  time,  with  specie, 
the  proceeds  of  our  last  venture  in  tobacco,  on  board,  was 
captured  by  H.  M.  Frigate  "  Thetis,"  Captain  Lord  Cochrane, 
and  a  suit  for  the  recovery  of  our  money  was  instituted, 
which  made  it  desirable  I  should  again  visit  England.  My 
health  had  been  much  broken  by  my  imprisonment,  and  I 
received  at  Havre  the  most  kind  care  from  Mrs.  Taney,  and 
her  father,  M.  Govain.  Madame  Govain  had  been  most 
anxious  for  my  conversion  to  the  Catholic  faith,  while  faiths 
were  still  respected ;  but  now  that  her  cure  had  fled,  it  was 
a  consolation  to  find  in  me  a  Republican  and  a  Christian. 
The  churches  in  Havre  being  at  this  time  closed,  many 
conscientious  persons  wandered  into  paganism,  and  my 
own  servant  seriously  inquired  of  me  whether  there  was,  or 
was  not,  a  God.  To  which  I  ventured  to  reply  that  religion 
was  a  blessing,  and  ought  to  be  a  guide,  and  at  all  events  it 
was  safe  to  believe  in  it. 

At  this  time  it  was  not  possible  for  a  person  of  noble 
descent,  estate,  or  connections,  to  remain  in  France  with 
safety,  and  the  few  who  had  so  far  escaped,  were  flying  in 
all  directions.  I  had  the  happiness  to  embark  at  Havre 
on  board  a  neutral  vessel,  the  beautiful  and  accomplished 
Countess  de  Fontange,  whose  husband  had  entered  the 
Spanish  army  ;  nor  was  she  the  only  person  to  whom  I 
rendered  similar  services,  but  these  mostly  took  refuge  in 
the  United  States. 

In  July,  1794,  I  thought  it  best  to  repair  to  London  and 
watch  over  our  interests  in  the  Court  of  Admiralty.  I 
therefore  embarked  on  board  a  small  Swedish  vessel  I  had 
freighted,  for  Hamburg,  intending  to  proceed  from  thence 
to  England.  We  ran  the  blockade  successfully,  after  a 
dangerous  and  tedious  passage,  and  I  landed  at  Gluckstadt, 
a  small  town  in  Holstein,  where  I  was  at  once  suspected  to 
be  a  Frenchman,  but,  as  my  papers  were  all  in  order,  I  was 
ordered  to  proceed  the  next  day  to  Hamburg. 

Hamburg  had  been  long  respected  by  European  belliger- 
ents as  one  of  the  Free  Cities,  but  no  respect  was  paid 
to  it  by  the  French,  who  not  only  entered  it,  but  plundered 


54  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

it ;  so  that  nowhere  had  the  Allies  more  ready  supporters 
than  the  Hamburghers.  When  the  French  overran  Ger- 
many, this  long-prosperous  Free  City  was  made  to  pay  dearly 
for  its  wonted  neutrality,  in  forced  seizures  and  loans,  until 
finally,  by  the  anti-commercial  system  by  which  Bonaparte 
endeavored  to  cripple  England,  her  merchants  were  shut 
out  from  the  ocean,  and  whatever  the  Revolutionary  armies 
had  left  became  the  spoil  of  the  French  Emperor's  generals. 

At  Hamburg  I  found  Mr.  Barlow  and  some  other 
Americans,  who  no  longer  considered  themselves  comfort- 
able or  safe  in  France,  and  I  became  personally  acquainted 
with  Mr.  Parrish,  the  United  States  consul,  and  M.  God- 
deffroy,  my  former  correspondent.1  At  a  dinner  at  his  hos- 
pitable house,  where  there  were  many  foreigners,  I  remarked 
that  his  accomplished  daughters  conversed  with  each  stranger 
in  his  own  tongue,  with  perfect  ease  and  facility. 

I  took  my  passage  to  England  in  a  packet,  in  which  I 
crossed  the  North  Sea  in  four  days.  The  weather  was  suffi- 
ciently moderate  to  enable  the  crew  to  cast  a  net  and  to 
catch  an  abundant  supply  of  fish  and  oysters.  The  oysters, 
however,  were  so  much  impregnated  with  a  coppery  taste 
as  hardly  to  be  eatable,  which  taste  is  common  to  all  the 
oysters  on  the  European  coasts,  so  that  they  are  at  first  very 
unpalatable  to  an  American. 

I  took  lodgings  in  London,  where  I  spent  the  winter 
(1794-95);  but  I  was  nearly  all  the  time  confined  to  the 
house,  indebted  to  my  landlady  for  her  kind  care,  and  for 
society  to  such  Americans  as  found  leisure  and  inclination 
for  friendly  offices.  This  is  a  form  of  charity  which  too 
many  worthy  people  overlook,  while  they  daily  perform 
other  acts  of  benevolence. 

While  I  was  thus  confined  to  my  lodgings  I  was  appointed, 
as  I  afterwards  learned  (for  the  commission  was  dated 
Dec.  1 8,  1794),  consul  of  the  United  States  for  the  port  of 
Havre-Marat,  as  it  was  then  called,  instead  of  Havre  de 

1  The  house  of  Goddeffroy  &  Co.  now  carries  on  an  immense 
business  with  islands  in  the  Pacific,  and  is  greatly  interested  in  the 
affairs  of  Samoa.  —  E.  W.  L. 


IN  THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR.  55 

Grace.  I  received  some  copies  of  the  Laws  addressed  to 
me  as  consul,  from  the  Department  of  State  at  Washington, 
three  years  after,  and  a  duplicate  of  my  commission  was 
furnished  me  on  my  return  to  America ;  but  such  were  the 
uncertainties  of  the  post-office  service  at  that  period  that 
my  commission  never  reached  me,  though  I  fulfilled  the 
duties  of  consul  at  Havre,  and  the  authorities  accepted  me 
as  such.  I  subsequently  inquired  of  Mr.  Monroe  whether 
such  a  document  had  come  into  his  hands.  He  answered 
that  no  such  paper  had  been  received  by  him,  and  added, 
'•  But  such  was  the  favorable  opinion  that  I  formed  of  your 
character  and  conduct  that  I  am  satisfied  that  your  appoint- 
ment would  have  been  agreeable  to  me." 

While  1  was  in  London  one  of  the  chief  actors  was  hissed 
off  the  stage  at  Drury  Lane  because  he  made  his  appearance 
with  short  hair,  thus  marking,  as  the  audience  supposed, 
his  sympathy  with  the  French  and  their  Revolution.  But 
the  Prince ^of  Wales  (inclined  to  side  with  Mr.  Fox  in  his 
opposition  to  the  tax  on  hair  powder)  adopted  the  crop,  and 
it  became  fashionable  in  England  soon  after. 

My  business  with  the  Admiralty  Court  being  happily 
settled,  I  left  England  for  France  in  company  with  Mr.  John 
Field  of  Philadelphia,  and  Mr.  Waldo  of  Boston,  who  were 
about  going  to  Paris,  France  having  become  more  settled 
after  the  unexpected  fall  of  Robespierre.  I  joined  them  in 
a  postchaise  and  four  for  Margate,  April  5,  1795. 

That  being  the  day  on  which  the  Princess  Caroline  of 
Brunswick  was  expected  to  arrive,  the  road  was  crowded, 
the  simple  ones  supposing  that  the  Prince  of  Wales  would 
come  with  speed  to  greet  his  bride.  We  did  not  pass 
without  observation,  especially  as  a  very  well-dressed  black 
servant  of  Mr.  Waldo  was  mounted  behind  the  carriage.  In 
the  midst  of  a  solitary  wood  we  met  a  coach  and  six,  con- 
taining no  less  a  person  than  Mr.  Pitt,  returning,  without 
attendance,  from  a  visit  to  one  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  of  which 
he  was  warden.  He  was  a  tall,  thin,  serious-looking  gentle- 
man in  black.  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  first  minister  of 
state  thus  travelling  alone,  and  without  a  guard. 


56  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

In  consequence  of  the  fall  of  Robespierre,  July  27*  1794, 
I  began  to  consider  the  establishment  of  rational  liberty  still 
possible  in  France.  Robespierre  was  a  middle-aged  man 
of  good  person,  wore  spectacles,  and  was  attentive  to  dress. 
From  some  proofs  of  candor  and  disinterestedness,  —  from 
his  absence  on  the  loth  of  August, — and  from  the  fact  of 
his  saving  the  lives  of  the  seventy-two  protesting  Deputies, 
and  restoring  the  belief  in  a  future  state,  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  he  had  been  pushed  forward  by  a  current  which 
was  irresistible.1  He  was  a  man  not  endowed  with  much 
courage  ;  but  if  he  could  have  put  down  his  rivals,  his  govern- 
ment might  have  been  at  least  as  mild  as  that  to  which  the 
French  submitted  their  necks  soon  after.  His  former  ac- 
complices, Billaud-Varennes,  Collot  d'Herbois,  and  Tallien, 
became  his  accusers  to  save  themselves,  and  few  adhered 
to  him  when  attacked. 

We  landed  at  Dunkirk,  a  place  famous  in  history,  where 
I  instantly  discovered  the  happy  change  produced  by  the 
downfall  of  the  late  government.  The  churches  were  now 
open  for  worship,  and  the  richer  classes  seemed  to  vie  with 
the  humbler  in  showing  their  devotion.  All  countenances 
were  brightened.  Each  class  seemed  disposed  to  acts  of 
civility  and  kindness. 

Mr.  Monroe,  who  had  recently  arrived  in  Paris,  to  replace 
Mr.  Morris  as  minister  of  the  United  States,  had  been  well 
received  by  the  more  just  and  temperate  Committee  of 
the  Convention.  The  American  character  became  every- 
where treated  with  respect. 

At  Amiens  I  took  leave  of  Messrs.  Field  and  Waldo,  who 
were  going  direct  to  the  capital,  while  I  hastened  across 
country  to  Havre.  The  road  from  Calais  to  Paris  was  orna- 
mented with  two  rows  of  forest  trees,  about  thirty  feet  from 
tree  to  tree;  'but,  for  the  safety  of  travellers,  no  forest  or 
grove  of  trees  is  suffered  to  stand  within  twenty  or  thirty 
yards  of  the  main  road. 

In  the  cultivation  of  the  land  and  in  their  manners,  I  saw 
little  difference  between  the  people  of  Picardy  and  those  of 
i  See  Book  IV.,  Chapter  IV. 


JAMES  MONROE. 


IN  THE  REIGN  OF  TERROR.  57 

Normandy  ;  and  the  peasantry  throughout  France,  in  those 
parts  where  they  cultivate  the  grape,  or  raise  grain,  or  follow 
grazing,  are,  as  I  saw  them,  sober,  plain,  and  pious.  I  had 
indeed  many  opportunities  of  mixing  with  them,  especially 
in  those  evening  dances  of  the  villagers,  in  which  I  often 
joined  with  heartfelt  pleasure.  I  saw  much  of  them,  too, 
while  engaged  in  their  various  occupations. 

Their  landlords  were  never  so  obnoxious  to  them  as  the 
unequal  tax  on  salt,  and  the  forced  labor  required  of  them 
on  the  roads.  Much  of  the  best  soil  was  held  by  the  regular 
clergy ;  but  as  these  fathers  spent  their  lives  among  the  vil- 
lagers, and  employed  the  industrious,  besides  ministering  to 
the  wants  of  the  afflicted,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the 
sale  and  division  of  their  domains  will  add  to  the  enjoyment, 
real  happiness,  or  contentment  of  the  peasantry,  although 
many  peasants  of  course  will  become  more  independent  in 
their  persons  and  property  than  formerly. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

LIFE  IS   PARIS   UNDER  THE   DIRECTORY. 

T17HILST  I  was  .absent  in  England  during  the  greater 
*  *  part  of  the  year  1794,  the  affairs  of  Mr.  Taney  had 
been  far  from  prospering.  The  fall  of  the  markets,  the  seizure 
of  some  of  his  shipments,  and,  above  all,  the  delay  of  the 
Government  in  paying  for  the  tobacco  purchased  from  him 
proved  his  ruin. 

To  obtain  some  settlement  from  those  in  power  after  the 
fall  of  Robespierre,  I  again  went  to  Paris  before  the  end  of 
April,  1795  >  and  as  tne  strict  English  blockade  had  de- 
stroyed the  trade  of  Havre,  I  never  returned  to  it  again. 

Before  I  left  London  I  had  been  recommended  to  several 
French  emigrants  as  a  person  to  whom  they  might  confide 
letters ;  amongst  others,  M.  Cazales,  the  late  eloquent  and 
intrepid  opponent  of  the  Revolutionary  measures  of  the  Con- 
stituent Assembly.  He  called  on  me,  and,  besides  his  own 
letters  of  a  private  nature,  tendered  me  a  polite  introduc- 
tion, which  I  accepted,  to  his  friend  M.  de  Nanteuil  of  the 
Place  Victoire,  formerly  one  of  the  farmers  of  the  diligences. 
This  proved  to  be  one  of  the  most  fortunate  circumstances 
of  my  life  ;  for  to  this  gentleman  and  his  amiable  family  was 
I  indebted  for  the  greatest  pleasures  of  the  ensuing  four 
years,  —  being  the  happiest  portion  of  my  life  during  my 
absence  from  America. 

At  the  same  time  that  Mr.  Monroe,  our  new  ambassador, 
reached  Paris,  came  three  friends  of  mine  from  Baltimore,  — 
Captain  Barney.  Mr.  J.  H.  Purviance,  and  Mr.  Henry  Wil- 
son ;  besides  Mr.  Skipwith,  Mr.  Monroe's  secretary,  and  a 
number  of  Americans  from  other  places.  By  the  aid  of 
Mr.  Skipwith  and  my  friend  Major  Mountflorence,  also 


LIFE  IN  PARIS  UNDER   THE  DIRECTORY.        59 

attached  to  the  embassy,  I  succeeded  in  obtaining  an 
acknowledgment  of  the  claims  with  which  I  was  intrusted, 
including  my  own,  and  some  payments  were  made  in  depre- 
ciated money ;  but  the  major  part  remained  unpaid  until, 
by  the  cession  of  Louisiana  in  1803,  the  American  Govern- 
ment assumed  most  of  the  debts. 

By  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Monroe  I  was  received  and  treated  in  a 
most  friendly  manner.  The  minister,  contemplating  a  resi- 
dence of  some  time  in  Paris,  and  tempted  by  the  low  price 
of  property,  purchased  a  very  handsome  villa  within  the  walls 
of  the  city,  to  the  west ;  where  he  and  his  lady,  then  young, 
beautiful,  and  affable,  entertained  at  sumptuous  dinners  nu- 
merous parties  of  Frenchmen  and  Americans,  besides  giving 
a  magnificent  fete,  long  remembered,  on  the  Fourth  of  July, 
1795,  soon  after  the  installation  of  the  new  embassy.  The 
only  child  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Monroe,  a  young  daughter,  was 
sent  to  Madame  Campan's  boarding-school  at  St.  Germain. 

Nothing  could  have  given  me  so  much  pleasure  as  the 
great  change  I  found  in  Paris  after  my  return  to  it  in  April, 
1795.  The  excluded  members  of  the  Convention  —  nearly 
seventy  in  number,  and  those  the  best  —  had  resumed  their 
seats.  The  Jacobin  Club  was  suppressed.  The  princess 
royal  had  been  sent  from  the  prison  where  she  had  lived, 
bereaved  of  her  parents,  to  the  palace  of  her  uncle  at 
Vienna ;  the  guillotine  was  put  down,  and  there  was  an  end 
to  the  infamous  Revolutionary  Tribunal. 

At  Mr.  Monroe's  I  met,  besides  Thomas  Paine,  —  whom 
Mr.  Monroe  charitably  lodged  and  boarded  for  some  time 
after  obtaining  his  release  from  prison,  —  my  countrymen, 
Messrs.  Barlow,  Eustis,  Putnam,  Barney,  Codman,  Waldo, 
Sands,  and  Higginson ;  besides  Colonel  Humphries,  our 
minister,  on  his  way  to  Spain  ;  Kosciusko,  the  Pole,  who 
served  in  our  War  of  Independence,  and  many  others.  I 
met  also  most  of  the  officials  or  founders  of  the  new  gov- 
ernment, including  the  Abbe"  Gregoire,1  who  retained  his 
fidelity  to  the  Catholic  faith,  and  deserved  the  bishopric  he 
got,  while  Gobel,  the  Diocesan  of  Paris,  basely  abandoned 
1  See  Book  V.,  Chapter  II. 


60  THE   FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

the  Church.  I  met,  too,  M.  Mercier,  author  of  a  facetious 
but  just  picture  of  Paris ;  and  Cambaceres,  then  occupied 
in  a  compilation  of  Laws  which  was  afterwards  designated 
the  Code  Napole'on.  With  Napoleon  he  was  subsequently 
associated  as  one  of  the  three  Consuls.  There  were  also 
Lanthenas,  Jean  de  Brie,  and  Boissy  d'Anglas,  convention- 
alists, men  who  sincerely  labored  to  establish  a  republican 
form  of  government,  —  of  the  practicability  of  which  neither 
they  nor  Mr.  Monroe  seemed  to  entertain  any  doubt.  I 
also  saw  there  the  Count  de  Segur,  M.  Volney  the  traveller, 
and  many  others.  But  Sieyes,  the  wily  Talleyrand,  and  others 
of  that  stamp,  affected  to  shun  places  of  conviviality  and 
the  society  of  foreigners. 

It  will  be  allowed  that  in  such  company  I  had  great  op- 
portunities for  improvement,  and  also  that  it  may  have  been 
hard  for  a  young  man  to  withstand  contamination  from  the 
erroneous  religious  and  political  opinions  that  many  of  these 
gentlemen  entertained. 

The  man  who  afterwards  became  First  Consul  was  not 
commonly  spoken  of  till  made  chief  of  the  Army  of  Italy. 
He  was  the  offspring  of  a  species  of  gentry  in  Corsica,  whom 
it  was  the  policy  of  France  to  conciliate  at  the  time  he  was 
educated  at  the  Military  School  at  Brienne.  He  was  a  dema- 
gogue from  infancy,  and  first  signalized  himself  at  Toulon 
in  1793.  Under  Barras  he  also  put  down  the  Sections,  i3th 
Vendemiaire  (Oct.  4,  1794). 

The  Jacobins,  alarmed,  after  the  fall  of  Robespierre,  by 
the  condemnation  of  Fouquier-Tinville,  the  Public  Prosecu- 
tor of  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal,  attempted  to  regain  their 
authority  in  the  May  following,  and  for  a  while  succeeded, 
after  killing  in  an  emeute  the  member  Feraud ;  but  their 
adherents  were  repulsed,  the  assassin  of  Feraud  was  arrested, 
and  at  once  condemned  to  death.  When  carried,  however, 
to  the  Place  de  Greve,  where  executions  at  that  time  took 
place,  he  was  rescued  from  a  few  cowardly  gendarmes  by 
a  small  party  of  the  populace,  and  hidden  in  the  Faubourg 
St.  Antoine.  As  I  had  never  witnessed  an  execution  by  the 
guillotine,  I  took  this  opportunity  to  go  to  the  Place  de  Greve 


CHARLES  MAURICE  TALLEYRAND. 


LIFE  IN  PARIS  UNDER   THE  DIRECTORY.       6 1 

with  my  friend  Purviance,  and  was  present  at  the  rescue, 
which  commenced  by  a  few  boys  crying,  Grace!  Grace! 
The  Convention,  however,  ordered  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine 
to  be  besieged,  and,  after  two  or  three  days  of  commotion, 
the  city  was  restored  to  quiet  by  the  surrender  and  execution 
of  the  murderer. 

While  Thomas  Paine  was  lodged  in  our  ambassador's 
house,  Mr.  Monroe  informed  me  that  he  was  writing  a  most 
abusive  letter  to  General  Washington,  and  asked  me  to  see 
him  and  persuade  him  to  have  it  suppressed,  as  he  himself  had 
in  vain  endeavored  to  do.  This  I  did,  but  all  in  vain ;  for 
Paine  thought  himself  slighted  by  our  Government,  which 
had  not  demanded  his  release  without  waiting  for  his  solici- 
tation. He  was,  like  many  other  geniuses  advanced  in  life, 
both  vain  and  obstinate  to  an  extreme  degree. 

When  Mr.  Monroe  was  recalled  in  1796,  the  Americans 
in  Paris,  who  had  received  many  services  and  civilities  from 
him,  and  who  had  no  knowledge  of  the  objectionable  com- 
munications that  had  passed  between  himself,  his  own  and 
the  French  Governments,  united  in  addressing  him  a  compli- 
mentary letter,  which  he  affixed  to  his  defense  on  his  return 
to  America,  and  which  was  the  innocent  cause  of  some  little 
coolness  on  the  part  of  friends  at  home  to  some  of  the  sign- 
ers, including  myself.  Although  I  always  differed  with  Mr. 
Monroe's  general  politics,  I  do  not  reproach  myself  with 
signing  this  testimony  to  his  private  worth  and  public 
services. 

On  my  former  visits  to  Paris  I  had  always  lodged  at 
public  hotels  or  inns,  where  I  met  other  Americans  or 
strangers ;  but  being  desirous  of  forming  French  acquaint- 
ances to  the  exclusion  in  some  measure  of  other  society, 
I  took  the  liberty  to  ask  my  friend  M.  de  Nanteuil,  after 
I  had  been  introduced  to  his  lady  and  his  family,  which 
consisted  of  two  amiable  young  daughters  and  a  young  son, 
if  I  could  live  with  them.  But  he  very  cordially  informed 
me  that  the  customs  of  the  country  would  not  allow  parents 
who  had  unmarried  daughters  in  the  house  to  admit  gentle- 
men on  the  footing  I  proposed,  but  that  I  might  consider 


62  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

his  house  like  a  home,  so  far  as  to  call  and  take  meals  with 
them  whenever  I  found  it  convenient.  I  was  even  urged 
to  bring  with  me  American  friends  and  others  at  discretion. 
I  was  also  introduced  into  the  family  of  M.  de  Nanteuil's 
younger  brother,  who  had  an  elegant  little  villa  at  Rhony,  the 
same  that  had  once  been  the  residence  of  the  Due  de  Sully. 
There  I  was  present  at  many  pleasant  parties,  and  passed 
many  happy  days.  I  became  acquainted  and  was  often  in 
company  with  Madame  Tallien,  who  was  certainly,  though 
aged  about  thirty,1  and  the  wife  of  a  second  husband,  one  of 
the  most  elegant  and  accomplished  women  of  the  age,  as 
she  was  that  one  of  all  her  sex  who  most  contributed  to 
serve  humanity  by  her  influence  over  the  monsters  who  had 
usurped  the  government  of  her  country.  I  also  knew  Ma- 
dame Recamier,  the  young  and  amiable  wife  of  the  banker 
of  that  name,  who  was  universally  considered  the  beauty  of 
Paris  for  several  years.  She  wats  not  so  tall  as  Madame 
Tallien  and  more  portly ;  both  had  black  eyes  and  hair. 

In  the  circle  of  young  ladies,  nearly  all  of  whom  were 
schoolfellows,  having  been  together  at  the  establishment  of 
Madame  Campan,  I  met  Mademoiselle  Oulot,  who  became 
the  wife  of  General  Moreau,  Mademoiselle  Agla'6  Angui£, 
who  in  1807  became  the  Princesse  de  la  Moskowa,  wife  of 
Marshal  Ney,  and  Mademoiselle  Hortense  de  Beauharnais, 
who  was  the  step-daughter  of  Bonaparte,  and  became  Queen 
of  Holland.  They  were  all  rivals  in  accomplishments  then, 
and  all  have  since  experienced  the  most  painful  reverses. 
Among  all  the  young  ladies  whom  I  -knew  in  France,  Made- 
moiselle Anguie,  whose  fate  was  the  most  deplorable,  united 
the  greatest  charms  of  person  and  mind,  and  pleased  me  most. 
This  young  lady's  father  had  suffered  his  share  of  Revolution- 
ary malice.  Her  mother  had  died  by  violence  ;  her  aunt, 
Madame  Campan,  had  been  driven  from  the  chamber  of  the 
queen  to  keep  a  boarding-school ;  while  her  uncle,  M.  Genet, 
had  rendered  himself  obnoxious  to  the  American  people, 
and  was  proscribed  at  home.  Yet  these  afflictions,  though 

1  Mr.  Griffith  is  mistaken ;  she  could  not  have  been  more  than 
twenty-four,  having  been  born  in  1773. 


LIFE  IN  PARIS  UNDER    THE   DIRECTORY.       63 

far  inferior  to  what  she  must  have  suffered  in  later  life  from 
the  execution  of  her  husband,  Marshal  Ney,  gave  her  a  sort 
of  pensive  modesty,  which,  at  her  age  and  with  her  gre'at 
beauty,  made  her  exceedingly  attractive. 

When  Bonaparte  assumed  the  extraordinary  task  of  mak- 
ing matches  between  his  generals  and  ladies  who  possessed 
a  certain  fortune,  he  presented  Mademoiselle  Anguie  to  Ney, 
and  is  said  to  have  declared  that  he  had  selected  "the 
fairest  of  the  fair  for  the  bravest  of  the  brave." 

I  was  long  enough  privileged  to  be  intimate  in  French 
society  to  assert,  contrary  to  the  statements  of  many  travel- 
lers, that  the  chances  of  happiness  in  marrying  among  the 
French  are  as  great,  or  nearly  so,  as  they  are  anywhere.  This 
will  not  appear  so  extraordinary  when  it  is  considered  that 
young  ladies  in  France  always  received  their  education  in 
some  convent,  and  were  afterwards  much  restricted  in  their 
intercourse  with  the  other  sex.  They  come  into  society  with- 
out any  former"  impressions  or  partialities,  and,  when  their 
parents  form  suitable  connections  for  them,  will  generally 
attach  themselves  to  their  husbands  and  their  domestic 
duties,  unless  the  husbands  become  libertines,  or  the  fasci- 
nations of  fashionable  or  court  life  overcome  their  religious 
principles. 

Although  in  other  countries  young  ladies  are  permitted 
a  more  general  intercourse,  how  seldom  does  it  happen  that 
they  obtain  in  marriage  the  man  they  most  admire  !  They 
are  not  at  liberty  to  solicit  for  themselves ;  but  in  France 
their  parents  will  often  seek  for  them  the  object  of  their 
preference. 

I  lived  in  furnished  apartments  in  the  Rue  Richelieu  at 
one  time  and  in  the  Rue  St.  Roch,  afterwards  with  Mr.  J. 
H.  Purviance,  private  secretary  to  Mr.  Monroe  ;  but  I  was 
generally  alone.  I  kept  a  cabriolet,  or  gig,  and  a  servant, 
a  native  of  Cologne,  who  was  my  hair-dresser,  valet  de 
chambre,  and  footman,  and  who  prepared  my  breakfast.  If 
I  was  not  engaged  abroad,  I  dined  at  a  restaurateur's  ;  that 
is,  one  of  those  splendid  cook-shops  with  which  the  capital 
of  France  abounds.  I  partook  of  all  public  amusements, 


64  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

and  was  frequently  in  the  streets  till  daylight,  without  ever 
receiving  the  slightest  injury  or  insult  from  individuals. 

One  of  my  country  excursions  was  to  Daumartin,  a  villa 
which  had  been  purchased  by  my  friend,  Mr.  Richard 
Codman,  of  Boston.  The  castle,  erected  probably  a  thou- 
sand years  before,  presented  only  piles  of  stone  and  mortar, 
which  seemed  to  adhere  as  one  mass  and  to  be  capable  of 
resisting  all  attacks  another  thousand  years. 

To  counteract  the  excitement  in  France  against  the  United 
States  in  1797,  I  wrote  an  answer  to  a  remark  in  the  corre- 
spondence of  the  ambassador  Fauchet,  relative  to  the  influ- 
ence of  British  trade  in  America.  The  title  of  my  pamphlet 
was,  "^Independence  absolue  des  Etats  Unis  de  I'Ame'rique 
prouve"e  par  1'Etat  actuel  de  leur  Commerce,"  etc.  Its  style 
was  corrected  by  a  French  friend,  M.  Billocq.  I  also  pub- 
lished articles  in  the  French  newspapers  for  a  similar 
purpose. 

The  Revolutionary  armies  under  Dumouriez,  Pichegru, 
Jourdan,  Hoche,  and  Moreau.  aided  by  the  sympathy  of 
foreign  populations  and  the  want  of  a  common  feeling  among 
the  allied  sovereigns,  had  enabled  the  French  Government 
to  procure  peace  with  Spain,  Prussia,  Switzerland,  and  Hol- 
land. Soon  after  the  fall  of  Robespierre,  Bonaparte  carried 
his  victorious  arms  through  Italy,  and  even  to  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Vienna.  The  British  Government  was  left  almost 
alone,  and  authorized  Lord  Malmesbury  to  enter  into  nego- 
tiations at  Lisle  ;  but  the  Directors  and  the  leading  men  in 
the  Assembly  became  uneasy  at  the  prospect  of  a  general 
peace.  They  overthrew  their  opponents  on  the  i8th  Fructi- 
dor  (Sept.  4,  1797)  by  calling  in  the  military  under  Au- 
gereau,  and  broke  off  the  negotiations,  sending  Bonaparte 
to  Egypt  to  conquer  other  colonies  in  place  of  those  they 
had  lost  in  America  ;  and  considering  themselves  destitute 
of  any  further  interest  in  the  neutrality  of  the  United  States, 
they  began  at  once  to  plunder  the  Americans,  and  their  gov- 
ernment used  the  most  insulting  language  to  our  own. 

Having  very  weak  eyes  from  infancy,  I  now  attempted  the 
"use  of  spectacles  before  I  was  twenty-four,  and  to  that,  and 


LIFE  IN  PARIS  UNDER    THE  DIRECTORY.        65 

perhaps  to  the  use  of  Rapparee  snuff  (begun  then  also),  I 
may  impute  the  preservation  of  my  sight,  using  my  spectacles 
only  for  reading ;  but  a  miniature  painter  whom  I  employed 
at  this  time  to  take  a  likeness  of  me  for  my  father,  dis- 
covered that  my  left  eye  was  defective,  being  in  part  per- 
manently covered  by  an  eclipse. 

Mr.  Monroe  was  recalled  in  the  fall  of  1796,  and 
General  Pinckney  was  sent  out  to  obtain  some  restoration 
of  harmony.  This  venerable  American  officer  and  patriot 
was  indignantly  rejected  by  those  self-created  despots  (the 
members  of  the  Directory),  and  it  became  necessary  to  sat- 
isfy our  people,  who  could  not  credit  the  horrid  acts  of 
pretended  republicans.  Another  embassy  was  therefore 
sent :  Gerry,  Marshall,  General  Ellsworth,  and  Messrs.  Davis 
and  Murray.  While  these  ambassadors  of  peace  were  on 
their  way,  American  property  was  subject  to  many  risks,  and 
our  persons  were  in  danger.  Mr.  Skipwith,  our  consul,  was 
obnoxious  at  Havre,  and  he  was  obliged  to  retire ;  so  also 
in  Paris  was  Major  Mountflorence,  his  late  assistant. 

My  own  health  requiring  change  and  care,  I  spent  some 
time  in  1798  at  Passy,  and  perhaps  avoided  molestation  by 
doing  so.  As  if  the  Directory  feared  that  personal  outrages 
on  Americans  should  not  be  understood,  they  passed  a 
decree  enjoining  foreigners  (meaning  particularly  Ameri- 
cans) to  leave  the  city  and  the  country,  within  a  very  short 
period,  unless  they  obtained  a  card  of  hospitality ;  that  is, 
a  permit  to  prolong  their  stay  from  week  to  week.  In  con- 
sequence of  this  decree,  Paris  was  almost  deserted  by  Ameri- 
cans, but  my  commercial  concerns  would  not  admit  of  my 
departure,  and  I  was  arrested  several  times,  because  I  had  not 
taken  care  to  renew  week  by  week  my  card  of  hospitality. 

As  if  enough  had  not  been  done  to  open  the  eyes  of 
Americans,  the  Directory  sent  an  army  into  the  Swiss  Can- 
tons, and  compelled  those  brave  and  ancient  republican 
allies  to  put  themselves  under  French  protection. 

I  endeavored  to  become  attached  to  the  Dutch  embassy, 
but  Mr.  Murray  had  engaged  Mr.  I.  Henry  as  his  secretary ; 
however,  after  all  official  characters  had  left  Paris,  I  became 

5 


66  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

the  medium  through  which  he  transmitted  American  official 
despatches  to  the  French  minister  for  foreign  affairs. 

When  I  published  my  Defence  of  the  Independence  of 
the  United  States  (of  which  I  have  already  spoken)  I  sent 
copies  to  MM.  Rccderer,  Angui£,  Dupre',  and  others ;  also 
to  M.  Talleyrand,  the  minister,  who  in  a  note  of  thanks 
replied  that,  if  I  had  not  proved  what  I  proposed,  I  had 
abundantly  shown  that  it  was  the  interest  of  the  United 
States  to  cultivate  a  good  understanding  with  the  French 
nation. 

The  corrupt  conduct  of  this  artful  man,  while  minister  for 
foreign  affairs,  and  the  energy  with  which  our  government 
exposed  his  intrigues,  together  with  reverses  to  the  French 
arms  in  Italy,  and  the  destruction  of  the  French  fleet  on  the 
coast  of  Egypt,  first  compelled  the  Directory  to  renew 
amicable  negotiations  with  the  United  States,  which  they 
wpuld  gladly  have  extended  to  Great  Britain.  Then  came 
their  final  overthrow  in  1799  by  the  military  party. 

I  took  an  opportunity  once  to  ask  M.  La  Forest,  who 
had  been  French  consul  at  Philadelphia,  and  was  then  chief 
clerk  in  the  Foreign  Department,  how  he  could  reconcile  it 
to  his  conscience  to  serve  such  wicked  rulers.  To  which  he 
pleaded  poverty  as  his  excuse,  but  also  declared  that  greater 
evils  might  have  taken  place  but  for  the  influence  of  M. 
Talleyrand. 

While  the  relations  of  the  French  Government  with 
America  continued  unsatisfactory,  nothing  profitable  could 
be  done  by  an  American  in  France.  Messrs.  Pinckney 
and  Gerry  had  gone  home,  and  the  hostility  of  the  French 
Government  to  all  Americans  who  remained  in  Paris  was 
apparent  in  many  ways.  I  therefore  determined  to  return 
home,  and,  when  things  should  improve,  attempt  to  obtain 
a  more  profitable  situation  than  that  of  consul  at  Havre. 
That  a  change  would  take  place  before  long  I  did  not  doubt. 
The  people  had  long  since  become  tired  of  strife  and  of  the 
many  shifting  changes  in  their  Government ;  and  some  Rev- 
olutionary leader  had  to  be  sought  on  whom  power  and 
authority  should  devolve  sufficient  to  defend  the  country 


CHARLES  COTESWORTH PINCKNEY. 


* 


LIFE   IN  .rARIS   UNDER   THE  DIRECTORY.        67 

externally  and  maintain  peace  in  the  interior.  For  this  they 
chose  a  person  who,  being  a  foreigner,  entertained  no  par- 
tiality for  any  district  of  the  country,  nor  any  class  of  people, 
and  yet  was  committed  to  the  Revolution.  To  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  the  nation  submitted,  with  few  exceptions,  as 
sordially  as  if  he  had  been  born  their  king,  for  the  French, 
like  other  people,  will  go  from  one  extreme  to  another,  and, 
after  contending  with  great  zeal  for  some  particular  object 
until  they  are  exhausted,  will  become  so  relaxed  and  indif- 
ferent as  to  appear  better  contented  without  it. 

Before  I  left  Paris  in  July,  1799,  it  was  known  that  the 
government  of  France  had  been  offered  to  Moreau,  Hoche, 
and  some  other  military  commanders.  People  were  then 
ignorant  that  Bonaparte  was  on  his  way  from  Egypt,  and  there 
was  a  general  feeling  that  the  king  would  be  restored,  and 
universal  peace  take  place  immediately. 

In  the  course  of  my  exertions  to  provide  for  myself  in 
the  future  in  case  I  should  never  receive  the  money  that  was 
due  me  from  the  French  Government,  I  purchased  for  a 
large  sum  in  assignats  a  hotel  in  the  Rue  de  Richelieu. 
Upon  the  fall  of  this  paper  money  I  sold  the  same  property 
for  payments  in  specie,  of  course  at  an  enormously  reduced 
price,  but  one  nevertheless  that  would  have  left  me  a  con- 
siderable profit.  Before  the  payments  were  all  due,  however, 
the  new  paper  money  called  mandats  was  created,  which, 
like  assignats,  fell  in  value  as  soon  as  it  appeared,  but,  having 
been  made  legal  tender,  my  purchaser  took  advantage  of  it, 
and  thus  my  hopes  of  a  successful  speculation  in  real  estate 
cost  me  dear. 

As  no  passage  direct  for  America  could  be  obtained  in 
France  in  1799,  and  as  I  was  desirous  to  see  Bordeaux,  I 
determined  to  proceed  home  by  Spain.  I  procured  a  pass- 
port from  Mr.  Skipwith,  indorsed  by  the  minister  for  foreign 
affairs,  to  be  countersigned  by  the  resident  Spanish  minister 
and  head  of  the  Department,  when  I  should  have  deposited 
my  card  of  hospitality. 

Fully  impressed  with  the  idea  that  I  should  soon  be  in 
France  again,  I  did  not  feel  that  regret  I  otherwise  should 


68  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

have  done  at  parting  with  my  inestimable  friends.  I  even 
entertained  hopes  of  seeing  again  General  Decoudray,  who,  a 
bachelor,  and  at  the  age  of  eighty,  entertained  in  the  most 
agreeable  manner  large  parties  of  gentlemen,  of  whom  I  was 
one.  He  inhabited  an  ancient  castle  of  his  family  at  Brie. 
He  was  sincerely  beloved  by  his  tenantry,  and  even  in  the 
days  of  party  violence  the  castle  gate  served  only  as  a  com- 
mon door,  the  moat  was  dry,  and  the  battlements  without  a 
guard.  From  a  pleasure  house  in  the  park  we  could  see 
a  distant  castle,  once  the  residence  of  La  Belle  Gabrielle. 
Some  anecdotes  relating  to  that  amour  of  the  Great  Henry 
were  told  us  as  family  traditions,  and  the  general  had  in  his 
town  house  in  the  Place  Royale  two  chairs  that  had  served  the 
happy  couple,  as  he  said. 

I  took  charge  of  some  letters  from  Madame  de  Lafayette 
to  General  Washington,  and  from  M.  Leroy  to  Mr.  Adams  and 
Colonel  Hamilton.  At  the  moment  I  was  stepping  into  the 
diligence,  that  gentleman  told  me  in  a  whisper  that  our 
friends  in  America  might  be  certain  of  a  speedy  revolution 
in  the  government  of  France. 

My  servant,  Louis  Monnard,  being  a  native  of  Cologne, 
and  liable  to  the  conscription,  was  very  desirous  to  leave 
France,  but  could  only  do  so  by  obtaining  the  security  of 
some  friends  for  his  return. 

We  passed  through  a  fine  arable  country  on  the  banks  of 
the  Loire,  to  Orleans  ;  thence  by  Blois  to  Tours,  and  so  on 
to  Bordeaux ;  there  I  hired  a  light  carriage,  and  crossed  the 
sands  to  Bayonne.  The  ^Landes,  as  they  are  called,  present 
a  surface  almost  bare,  and  the  people  appear  to  live  on  the 
produce  of  their  pine  timber,  and  on  flocks  of  sheep,  which 
the  shepherds  watch  and  drive  mounted  on  stilts,  while  they 
spin  tow  or  flax  by  hand.  I  lived  upon  the  road  on  the 
thighs  of  geese,  smoked  like  bacon.  However,  as  I  ap- 
proached Bayonne,  the  country  improved. 

At  Bayonne  I  hired  mules,  and  a  guide  to  conduct  me 
over  some  small  spurs  of  the  Pyrenees  into  Spain.  The 
guide  proved  to  be  a  girl  of  twenty-two,  daughter  of  the 
man  who  owned  the  mules.  It  seems  that  the  commandants 


LIFE  IN  PARIS  UNDER    THE  DIRECTORY.       6$ 

of  the  French  and  Spanish  guards  on  the  frontier  treated  the 
Biscayan  women  with  much  confidence ;  and  although  I  was 
not  permitted  to  see  my  baggage,  I  do  not  believe  that  any- 
thing was  even  opened. 

When  I  reached  San  Sebastien,  having  happily  got  out  of 
France,  I  found  in  the  harbor  several  American  ships  armed, 
manned,  and  furnished  with  letters  of  marque  against  the 
French. 

The  first  vessel  sailing  for  America  was  a  small  schooner 
bound  to  New  York,  and  its  commander,  Captain  Palmer,  tak- 
ing me  as  a  passenger,  we  sailed  early  in  August,  1 799.  We 
made  two  or  three  narrow  escapes  from  vessels  which  we 
supposed  to  be  British  cruisers.  At  one  time  there  were  two 
which  we  did  not  discover  till  quite  near  us.  At  another 
time  a  frigate  by  press  of  sail  got  within  gunshot  of  us  after 
a  day's  chase ;  but  as  we  were  in  the  act  of  coming  to,  she 
carried  away  her  fore-topmast,  which  emboldened  us  to 
cheer  and  fill  our  sails  again. 

We  finally  lost  sight  of  her,  to  the  great  joy  of  our  captain, 
for  his  vessel  and  his  cargo  of  French  goods  actually  belonged 
to  French  merchants  in  New  York  ;  and  if  he  did  not  lose  all, 
he  would  at  least  have  been  sent  to  England  and  detained 
at  great  expense. 

On  September  20  we  made  the  Highlands,  but  too  late  in 
the  day  to  pass  Sandy  Hook,  and,  not  to  be  obliged  to  tack 
at  a  critical  season  between  Long  Island  and  the  Jersey 
Shore,  Captain  Palmer  stood  out  to  sea  till  the  next  day,  when 
we  reached  New  York. 

We  heard  from  the  health  officer,  who  made  no  difficulty 
in  letting  us  go  up  to  the  city,  that  yellow  fever,  that  fatal 
disease  which  several  times  during  my  absence  had  visited 
my  country,  was  now  raging  in  New  York  so  terribly  that 
almost  all  the  inhabitants  had  quitted  the  city. 


BOOK  II. 

FRANCE  BEFORE  THE  REVOLUTION. 

I.  IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LATUDE. 
II.  A  PEASANT'S  VIEW  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

III.  PARIS  IN  1787. 

IV.  COURT  LIFE  AT  VERSAILLES  ON  THE  EVE  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


CHAPTER   I. 

INTRODUCTORY    REMARKS    ON    BOOK    II. 

'T'HE  French  Revolution  of  1789  was  not  primarily  a 
-*-  revolt  of  the  peasantry.  All  over  France,  indeed,  the 
salt  tax,  or  gabelle,  and  the  corvee  (or  forced  labor  on  the 
roads)  were  held  to  be  sore  grievances  by  the  rural  popula- 
tion ;  but  in  Northern,  Western,  and  Southern  France  the 
peasants  were  unfavorable  to  the  Revolution,  and  it  required 
a  great  deal  of  Revolutionary  "  mission  work  "  to  stir  them 
up  against  their  clergy  and  their  nobles.  It  was  not  so  in 
Central  France,  or  in  Lorraine,  —  a  province  that  had  not 
long  been  annexed  to  the  French  crown.  Lorraine  had 
been  burdened  by  all  sorts  of  feudal  exactions  imposed 
upon  the  country  by  its  semi-German  rulers,  and  even  after 
its  annexation  to  France  in  1766,  some  of  its  nobles  re- 
tained what  was  called  office  et  seigneurie,  which  gave 
them  jurisdiction,  and  even  the  power  of  life  and  death,  in 
certain  townships  and  villages. 

The  Revolution  in  its  earlier  stages,  before  the  roughs 
of  Paris  learned  their  power  and  took  the  upper  hand 
stimulated  by  a  large  foreign  anarchic  element,  was  the 
offspring  of  a  sense  of  oppression  that  pervaded  the  intelli- 
gent classes.  The  nobility,  especially  the  cadets  of  noble 
houses,  dreaded  personal  oppression  by  the  crown,  —  above 


HENRI  MASERS  DE  LA  TUDE 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  ON  BOOK  77.          71 

all,  its  lettres  de  cachet,  distributed  with  a  strange  recklessness 
in  all  directions ;  the  professional  class  felt  bitterly  its  exclu- 
sion from  all  careers  of  honor.  No  man  could  rise  in  life 
without  his  quarterings ;  he  might  gain  wealth,  but  place, 
power,  and  social  consideration  were  denied  him.  In  the 
army  and  navy  the  officers  were  all  nobles,  and  those  who 
could  not  exhibit  a  certain  length  of  pedigree  without  a  flaw 
were  called  officiers  bleus  and  socially  ostracized  by  their 
comrades.  A  desire  for  "  liberty "  was  in  the  air.  It 
pervaded  all  classes,  it  was  stimulated  by  the  fin  du  siecle 
literature  of  that  day,  and,  above  all,  by  sympathy  with 
American  ideas  brought  back  to  France  by  young  French 
officers  who  had  served  under  Washington  in  our  War  of 
Independence. 

The  queen  and  her  court  party  shook  off  the  fetters  of 
court  etiquette  for  the  enjoyment  of  liberty  at  the  Trianon. 
Liberty  of  opinion,  liberty  of  action,  freedom  from  the 
bonds  which  shackled  every  free  movement  in  every  man's 
daily  life,  was  the  aspiration  of  many  millions  of  hearts  in 
France  for  ten  years  before  the  cry  arose  for  reform  in  the 
finances,  and  for  the  assembling  of  the  States-General.  The 
iron  had  entered  into  every  man's  soul  who  belonged  to 
the  cultivated  classes ;  but  the  movement  did  not  affect  the 
peasantry  until  the  desire  for  plunder  took  possession  of 
them,  and  in  Central  France  they  burned  the  chateaux  of 
their  lords. 

What  the  terrors  of  the  Bastille  were  we  may  learn  from 
the  narrative  of  Latude  ;  what  the  Revolution  effected  for  the 
peasantry  has  been  told  by  MM.  Erckmann  and  Chatrian, 
who  wrote  down  their  narrations  from  the  lips  of  ancient 
actors  in  these  stories  ; *  and  how  Paris  and  Versailles  on 
the  verge  of  the  Revolution  looked  to  the  gay,  the  young, 
and  the  careless,  we  may  read  in  the  narrative  of  two  young 

1  There  is  no  better  picture  of  the  Revolution  and  peasant  life 
before  the  Revolution  than  may  be  found  in  George  Sand's  charming 
story  of  Nanon ;  of  which  the  "  Christian  Union  "  said,  when  a  transla- 
tion of  it  appeared  in  1886,  published  by  Messrs.  Roberts,  that  "it 
was  like  the  Pastoral  Symphony  in  prose."  —  E.  W.  L. 


72  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

men  of  the  middle  class  who  came  up  to  the  capital  on  a 
frolic  on  the  eve  of  the  outburst  of  the  great  volcano. 

I  have  added  a  paper,  also  translated  from  the  "  Supple'- 
ment  Litte'raire  du  Figaro,"  in  which  a  modern  reporter 
feigns  to  give  us  his  impressions  of  Paris  and  court  life  at 
the  same  date. 

IMPRISONMENTS   AND   ESCAPES   OF   LATUDE.1 

Henri  Masers  de  Latude  was  born  March  23,  1725,  near 
Montagnac  in  Languedoc,  in  a  castle  belonging  to  his  father, 
the  Marquis  de  Latude,  Knight  of  the  order  of  St.  Louis, 
Lieutenant- Colonel  of  the  dragoons  of  Orleans,  and  at  the 
time  of  his  death  (which  took  place  during  his  son's  im- 
prisonment) the  king's  lieutenant  at  Sedan. 

Henri  de  Latude,  a  younger  son,  and  by  a  second  marriage, 
was  well  educated  with  a  view  to  his  becoming  an  officer 
and  a  courtier ;  but  from  some  slight  hints  in  his  story,  we 
judge  that  he  made  more  enemies  than  friends  at  Montagnac 
in  his  early  years. 

A  taste  he  had  for  mathematics  led  his  father  to  get  him 
an  appointment  as  a  supernumerary  officer  in  the  Engineers, 
under  an  old  friend  of  the  family,  then  serving  at  Bergen-op- 
Zoom  ;  but  the  peace  of  1748  cut  short  his  military  career, 
and  he  repaired  to  Paris  to  push  his  way  in  life,  and  to 
improve  his  education. 

At  that  time  Jeanne  Antoinette  Poisson,  Marquise  de 
Pompadour,  had  reigned  about  three  years  over  Louis  XV., 
over  France,  and  almost  over  Europe.  She  had  resented 
Frederick  the  Great's  refusal  to  receive  her  compliments 
through  M.  de  Voltaire,  by  a  declaration  of  war,  and  had 
forced  the  Empress  Marja  Theresa,  staid  wife  and  good 
mother,  to  address  her  as  "my  cousin."  Her  reign  lasted 
in  France  for  nineteen  years.  Latude,  with  all  his  wrongs, 
has  painted  her  in  no  darker  colors  than  history.  The 
woman  was  possibly  no  worse  than  her  generation,  but  on 
her  was  visited  the  nation's  sense  of  oppressions,  evils,  and 

1  By  Mrs.  E.  W.  Latimer.  Published  in  "  Littell's  Living  Age," 
Feb.  17,  1883. 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LATUDE.        73 

abuses ;  and  this  exasperation,  before  the  century  was  out, 
was  to  culminate  in  the  Revolution. 

The  difficulty  of  approaching  this  lady,  who  was  the 
fountain  of  all  favor,  both  in  camp  and  court,  seems  to  have 
inspired  more  than  one  young  simpleton  with  projects  as 
dishonorable,  ill  advised,  and  ill  laid  as  one  conceived  and 
carried  out  by  Latude.  He  addressed  a  package  to  Madame 
de  Pompadour  into  which  he  put  a  powder  perfectly  harm- 
less. Then  he  hastened  to  Versailles,  and  requested  an 
audience.  Having  procured  it,  he  informed  her  that  in 
the  garden  of  the  Tuileries  he  had  overheard  a  project 
formed  by  two  men  to  poison  her ;  that  he  had  followed 
them  to  the  general  post-office,  where  they  had  deposited 
a  letter ;  this  letter  he  believed  to  be  for  her,  and  to  contain 
a  subtle  poison. 

Madame  de  Pompadour  expressed  the  utmost  gratitude 
for  his  zeal,  and  offered  him  upon  the  spot  a  purse  of  gold, 
which  he  declined,  saying  he  only  aspired  to  her  patronage 
and  protection.  Madame  de  Pompadour,  however,  was  a 
shrewd  woman.  She  made  him  write  down  his  address, 
which  he  did,  without  reflecting  that  on  the  envelope  of  his 
package  he  had  not  disguised  his  handwriting.  He  there- 
fore returned  to  his  own  lodging  exulting  in  the  success  of 
his  ruse,  and  dreaming  of  future  advancement  in  the  court 
and  army. 

Madame  de  Pompadour  at  once  obtained  her  letter  from 
the  post-office,  and  tried  the  effect  of  the  powder  it  con- 
tained on  several  animals.  As  these  were  none  the  worse 
for  taking  it,  she  compared  the  handwriting  on  the  cover 
with  Latude's.  He  was  detected  at  once,  and  forthwith 
was  waited  upon  by  an  agent  of  police,  who  hurried  him 
into  a  voiture  de  place,  and  set  him  down  about  eight  o'clock 
in  the  evening  of  April  27,  1749,  in  the  courtyard  of  the 
Bastille.  He  was  taken  into  the  Chamber  of  Council,  and 
there  found  the  prison  authorities  awaiting  his  arrival.  Here 
they  stripped  him  and  took  from  him  all  his  money,  papers, 
and  valuables.  His  clothes  were  retained  for  further  search, 
and  he  received  in  exchange  some  miserable  rags,  which,  as 


74  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

he  phrases  it,  "  had  been  watered  by  the  tears  of  other 
unfortunate  prisoners."  This  ceremony  was  4at  the  Bastille 
called  faire  F entree  d'un  prisonnier.  They  then  made  him 
write  his  name,  and  the  date  of  his  arrival,  in  the  prison 
register,  after  which  they  conducted  him  to  a  room  in  one 
of  the  towers,  into  which  they  locked  him. 

Berryer,  the  lieutenant  (or,  as  we  should  say,  the  min- 
ister) of  police,  was  sent  next  morning  to  interrogate  him. 
When  Latude  had  told  him  exactly  what  he  had  done  and 
the  motives  that  prompted  him,  Berryer  replied  that  he  saw 
nothing  in  his  action  but  a  piece  of  youthful  folly.  He 
promised  to  intercede  with  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour, 
and  did  so ;  but  the  incensed  favorite  could  not  be  brought 
to  consider  the  offence  "  a  young  man's  indiscretion,"  and 
emphasized  her  intention  to  keep  him  in  strict  and  solitary 
confinement.  M.  Berryer,  however,  ordered  that  he  should 
have  every  indulgence,  and  even  the  society  of  an  English 
spy,  a  Jew  named  Joseph  Abuzaglo,  betrayed  by  the  open- 
ing of  his  letters  in  the  post-office.  But  these  companions 
in  misfortune  only  increased  each  other's  despair. 

Abuzaglo  had  a  wife  and  children,  ignorant  of  his  fate, 
with  whom  he  was  denied  any  communication  whatever. 
He  had,  however,  a  supposed  patron  in  the  Prince  de  Conti, 
who  he  expected  would  exert  himself  in  his  behalf ;  and  he 
and  Latude  made  mutual  promises  that  whoever  was  first 
released  should  spare  no  pains  to  procure  the  liberation  of 
the  other.  These  vows  must  have  been  overheard  by  their 
jailers.  One  morning,  about  four  months  after  Latude's 
arrest,  three  turnkeys  entered  their  chamber,  one  of  whom 
informed  Latude  that  the  order  for  his  liberation  from  the 
Bastille  had  come.  He  took  an  affecting  leave  of  Abuzaglo, 
promising  to  remember  their  agreement ;  but  no  sooner  was 
he  outside  the  double  door  of  his  late  dungeon  than  he  was 
informed  that  they  were  going  to  remove  him  to  Vincennes. 

Abuzaglo  a  short  time  after  regained  his  liberty  ;  but,  be- 
lieving Latude  to  be  already  free,  and  outraged  by  his  total 
inattention  to  his  promises,  he  took  no  steps  in  his  behalf. 

Latude,  in  his  new  prison,  fell  dangerously  ill.      Kind 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LATUDE.        75 

M.  Berryer  still  watched  over  him.  He  assigned  him  the 
most  comfortable  apartment  in  the  castle  of  Vincennes,  with 
a  window  that  commanded  a  superb  view  of  the  surrounding 
country.  It  was  now  that  the  ardent,  scheming  spirit  of 
Latude  began  first  to  conceive  the  idea  of  an  escape.  A 
poor  old  priest  had  been  confined  in  the  castle  many  years, 
on  a  charge  of  Jansenism.  He  was  permitted  to  teach  the 
children  of  one  of  the  turnkeys,  and  to  receive  frequent 
visits  from  an  old  friend,  the  Abb£  de  St.  Sauveur.  For  two 
hours  every  day  Latude  was  allowed  to  take  exercise  in 
the  garden  of  the  castle,  always  attended  by  two  turnkeys. 
Sometimes  the  elder  turnkey  waited  in  the  garden  while  the 
younger  went  upstairs  to  unlock  the  prisoner's  door.  Latude 
began  by  making  a  practice  of  running  downstairs  in  advance 
of  his  attendant,  who  always  found  him  conversing  with  his 
fellow-turnkey  within  the  garden  door. 

One  evening  the  bolts  were  hardly  withdrawn  when  Latude 
rushed  downstairs,  closed  the  outside  door,  and  fastened  it 
upon  the  younger  man.  How  he  settled  with  the  elder  he 
does  not  tell.  After  that  he  had  to  pass  four  sentinels.  The 
first  was  at  a  gate  which  led  out  of  the  garden,  which  was 
always  closed.  He  hurried  towards  it,  calling  out  eagerly, 
"  Where  is  the  Abbe'  St.  Sauveur  ?  The  old  priest  has  been 
waiting  for  him  two  hours  in  the  garden  !  "  Thus  speaking, 
he  passed  the  sentinel.  At  the  end  of  a  covered  passage  he 
found  another  gate,  and  asked  the  sentry  who  guarded  it 
where  the  Abbe  St.  Sauveur  was.  .  He  replied  he  had  not 
seen  him,  and  Latude  hurried  on.  The  same  ruse  was  suc- 
cessful at  the  other  two  posts.  Latude  was  free,  after  twelve 
long  months  of  captivity,  —  four  in  the  Bastille  and  eight  at 
Vincennes. 

He  hurried  to  Paris  across  country,  and  shut  himself  up 
in  furnished  lodgings.  Will  it  be  believed  that  the  man  who 
had  planned  and  executed  so  audacious  an  escape  could  think 
of  no  better  mode  of  retaining  his  liberty  than  to  draw  up  a 
memorial  to  the  king,  "  speaking  of  Madame  de  Pompadour 
with  respect,"  and  expressing  regret  for  his  past  conduct? 
He  ended  by  giving  his  address  in  Paris  ;  and  then,  having 


76  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

intrusted  this  document  to  one  of  the  physicians  of  the 
court,  he  waited  impatiently  for  an  answer. 

Throughout  the  narrative  we  are  struck  by  the  extreme 
ignorance  or  indifference  of  this  young  man  of  quality  re- 
specting the  outside  world.  To  him  France,  or  rather  Paris 
and  Versailles,  seem  to  have  contained  the  whole  human 
family,  —  or  at  least  all  that  portion  of  it  with  which  alone 
it  was  possible  for  a  man  of  his  position  to  hold  civilized 
intercourse. 

In  a  few  days  his  retreat  was  visited  by  another  agent  of 
police,  who  reconducted  him  to  the  Bastille.  In  spite  of  the 
good  offices  of  M.  Berryer,  in  spite  of  the  promise  made 
him  on  his  arrest  that  he  should  be  set  at  liberty  if  he  would 
reveal  the  exact  manner  of  his  escape,  he  now  changed  his 
former  comforts  for  a  dungeon.  This  place  was  lighted  by 
a  loophole  which  admitted  some  faint  rays  of  light,  and 
M.  Berryer  ordered  him  to  be  supplied  with  books  and 
writing  materials.  This  indulgence  proved  his  ruin.  Hot- 
headed and  imprudent,  he  could  not  refrain  from  writing  on 
the  margin  of  one  of  the  volumes  furnished  him  a  coarse 
squib  upon  his  persecutress,  such  as  few  women  of  her  con- 
dition could  have  been  expected  to  forgive  :  — 

"  Unblessed  with  talents,  unadorned  with  charms, 

Nor  fresh  nor  fair,  a  wanton  can  allure 
In  France  the  highest  lover  to  her  arms. 
As  proof  of  this,  behold  the  Pompadour  !  " l 

Latude  was  not  aware  that  every  book  was  carefully  exam- 
ined after  it  had  been  in  the  hands  of  a  prisoner.  His 
wretched  verses  were  no  sooner  found  than  they  were 
pointed  out  to  the  governor,  who  forthwith  carried  them 
in  person  to  Madame  de  Pompadour. 

"  Hell  hath  no  fury  like  a  woman  scorned." 
In   her  first   paroxysm  of  rage   she   sent  for  M.  Berryer. 

1 "  Sans  esprit,  et  sans  agrements, 

Sans  etre  ni  belle  ni  neuve, 

En  France  on  peut  avoir  le  premier  des  amants ; 
La  Pompadour  en  est  la  preuve." 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LATUDE.        77 

"  See  !  "  she  cried,  stammering  in  her  excitement ;  "  learn  to 
know  your  protege1,  and  dare  again  to  solicit  my  clemency  !  " 

For  eighteen  months  after  this  the  compassionate  Berryer 
left  poor  Latude  unsolaced  in  his  dungeon  ;  at  the  end  of 
that  time  he  had  him  removed  to  a  more  comfortable  apart- 
ment, and  offered  him  the  companionship  of  a  servant  if  he 
could  procure  one  to  share  his  captivity.  Persons  confined 
under  a  lettre  de  cachet  could  sometimes  obtain  this  favor  on 
condition  that  the  servant  should  share  the  imprisonment  of 
his  master  until  the  death  or  pardon  of  his  principal  released 
him  from  his  obligation. 

Pierre  Cochar,  the  young  man  whom  the  family  of  Latude 
succeeded  in  inducing  to  share  the  solitude  of  their  kins- 
man, soon  broke  down  under  the  horrors  of  captivity.  He 
pined,  he  bewailed  his  engagement,  and  at  last  fell  ill.  In 
vain  his  master  implored  his  release  from  prison.  He  was 
only  carried  from  the  cell  when  in  his  dying  agony. 

The  three  months  of  imprisonment  which  killed  Cochar 
were  the  three  least  intolerable  months  in  a  captivity  of 
thirty-five  years  suffered  by  his  unhappy  master.  M.  Berryer, 
unwearied  in  his  kindness,  next  procured  him  the  society  of 
another  prisoner,  young,  enthusiastic,  talented,  and  full  of  spirit, 
who  had  already  languished  three  years  in  the  Bastille  under 
a  lettre  de  cachet.  He  had  written  to  Madame  de  Pompadour, 
"  pointing  out  the  odium  in  which  she  was  held  by  the  pub- 
lic, and  tendering  advice  as  to  how  she  might  recover  the 
good  opinion  of  the  nation  while  retaining  the  confidence  of 
the  king." 

This  young  man  was  named  D'Alegre ;  and  towards 
him,  as  towards  Latude,  Madame  de  Pompadour  had 
sworn  undying  vengeance.  Penetrated  with  the  conviction 
that  only  her  death  or  her  disgrace  could  end  their  mis- 
ery, Latude  was  maddened  into  energy,  D'Alegre  reduced  to 
despair.  The  former  planned,  and  both  together  executed, 
the  most  daring  escape  known  in  prison  annals.  It  was  out 
of  the  question  to  attempt  to  get  out  of  the  Bastille  by  its 
gates.  "  There  remained,"  says  Latude,  "  no  other  way  but  by 
the  air."  In  their  chamber  was  a  chimney,  the  flue  of  which 


78  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

came  out  at  the  top  of  the  tower ;  but,  like  all  those  in  the 
Bastille,  it  was  filled  with  iron  gratings,  the  bars  of  which  were 
hardly  far  enough  apart  to  let  the  smoke  pass  upward.  From 
the  top  of  this  chimney  to  the  ground  was  a  descent  of  two 
hundred  feet.  The  ground,  however,  was  a  deep  moat,  com- 
manded on  its  other  side  by  a  very  high  wall. 

The  two  prisoners  had  no  means  of  communicating  with 
the  world  outside  their  prison.  They  had  no  implements, 
and  no  materials  ;  only  their  bare  hands,  their  education,  and 
their  manhood. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  get  to  the  top  of  the 
chimney  ;  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  they  had  to  begin  by 
discovering  a  place  of  concealment  for  any  tools  and  mate- 
rials they  might  find  means  to  secure.  Latude  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  there  must  be  a  space  between  their  floor  and 
the  ceiling  of  the  chamber  beneath  them.  In  order  to  make 
sure  of  this  he  made  use  of  an  ingenious  stratagem. 

There  was  a  chapel  attached  to  the  Bastille  in  which  four 
little  closets  were  arranged  for  any  prisoners  permitted  to 
attend  mass.  This  was  a  great  favor,  but  it  was  enjoyed, 
thanks  to  M.  Berryer,  by  our  young  men,  and  by  the  pris- 
oner in  No.  3,  the  room  beneath  theirs.  Latude  got  D'Alegre 
to  drop  his  toothpick  case  while  gojng  up  the  stairs,  near 
the  door  of  No.  3  ;  to  let  it  roll  downstairs,  and  ask  the  turn- 
key to  pick  it  up  for  him.  While  the  man  (who  was  still 
living  in  1790)  was  so  engaged,  Latude  contrived  to  get  a 
hurried  peep  into  the  chamber.  He  measured  it  with  his 
eye,  and  thought  its  height  about  ten  (French)  feet  and  a 
half.  He  then  measured  one  step  of  the  stairs  and  counted 
thirty-two  of  them  up  to  their  own  apartment.  This  con- 
vinced him  that  there  must  be  a  considerable  space  between 
the  ceiling  of  No.  3  and  the  floor  of  the  room  he  and 
D'Alegre  occupied. 

As  soon  as  he  and  his  companion  were  shut  into  their  own 
chamber,  he  threw  himself  on  his  friend's  neck,  exclaiming 
in  a  transport  of  delight,  "  We  are  saved  !  "  D'Alegre 
naturally  objected  that  they  had  no  tools,  and  no  materials. 
"  Yes  ! "  cried  Latude,  "  in  my  trunk  there  are  at  least  a 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LA  TUDE.        79 

thousand  feet  of  rope  !  "  In  Languedoc,  as  still  in  Germany 
and  in  some  parts  of  Scotland,  the  domestic  life  of  woman- 
kind was  simplified  in  those  days  by  the  practice  of  having 
the  family  washing  done  about  three  times  a  year.  This 
necessitated  enormous  supplies  of  linen.  Latude  had  been 
permitted  to  have  his  wardrobe  sent  him.  He  had  thirteen 
dozen  and  a  half  of  linen  shirts,  and  towels,  stockings,  and 
night-caps  in  proportion.  Part  of  this  linen  he  had  bought 
cheap  from  French  soldiers  after  the  plunder  of  Bergen-op- 
Zoom. 

They  had  a  folding  table  with  two  iron  hooks,  which  fas- 
tened it  to  the  wall.  They  managed  to  sharpen  these  hooks, 
and  in  two  hours  more  had  whetted  part  of  the  steel  of  their 
tinder-box  until  it  made  a  sort  of  knife,  which  enabled  them 
to  fix  handles  to  the  hooks,  which  were  to  be  used  to  get  the 
gratings  out  of  the  chimney.  Their  first  work,  however,  was 
to  raise  some  tiles  from  the  floor  of  their  room,  when,  after 
digging  about  six  hours,  they  ascertained  that  there  was  in- 
deed a  space  of  about  four  feet  between  their  floor  and  the 
ceiling  below  them.  They  then  replaced  the  tiles  and  pro- 
ceeded to  draw  out  the  threads  of  their  shirts,  one  by  one. 
These  were  knotted  together,  and  wound  into  two  large  balls, 
each  of  which  was  composed  of  fifty  strands  sixty  feet  long. 
Of  these  they  next  twisted  a  rope  about  fifty-five  feet  in 
length,  with  which  they  contrived  a  rope-ladder  of  twenty 
feet,  intended  to  assist  their  work  in  the  chimney. 

For  six  months  they  labored  to  remove  the  iron  gratings. 
An  hour  at  a  time  was  all  each  man  could  endure  at  this 
arduous  employment,  and  they  never  came  down  without 
their  hands  and  legs  being  covered  with  blood.  The  iron 
bars  were  set  in  exceedingly  hard  mortar,  which  they  had  no 
means  of  softening  but  by  blowing  water  on  it  from  their 
mouths,  and  it  took  a  whole  night  to  work  away  the  eighth 
of  an  inch.  When  a  bar  was  taken  out  they  reset  it  loosely 
in  its  place  again.  Next  they  went  to  work  on  a  ladder  of 
wood,  on  which  they  intended  to  mount  from  the  moat  to 
the  top  of  the  wall,  and  thence  to  descend  into  the  garden  of 
the  governor.  It  was  from  twenty  to  twenty-five  feet  long,  and 


80  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

must  have  cost  incredible  labor.  They  next  found  that  they 
would  want  blocks  and  pulleys,  which  could  not  be  made 
without  a  saw.  This  saw  they  contrived  out  of  their  iron 
candlestick,  and  the  remainder  of  the  steel  in  their  tinder- 
box.  With  their  rude  knife,  their  saw,  and  the  iron  hooks, 
they  chopped  and  fashioned  the  firewood  doled  out  to  them. 
Their  ladder  had  one  upright,  through  which  holes  were 
pierced  for  the  rungs.  It  was  constructed  in  three  pieces, 
mortised  and  fitted  so  that  they  could  be  put  together  at  any 
moment.  Each  hole  had  its  rung,  and  two  wedges  to  keep 
it  steady  attached  to  it  by  a  pack-thread.  The  upright  was 
three  inches  in  diameter,  and  the  rungs  projected  about  a 
foot  on  either  side. 

As  each  piece  was  finished,  it  was  carefully  laid  away  under 
the  floor.  They  also  made  a  pair  of  dividers,  a  square,  and 
a  carpenter's  rule. 

The  prisoners  were  liable  to  domiciliary  visits,  though  none 
were  ever  made  them  after  dark.  They  therefore  worked 
during  the  night,  and  had  to  be  careful  not  to  leave  a  chip 
or  shaving  to  betray  them.  For  fear  they  should  be  over- 
heard when  speaking  of  their  project,  they  invented  names 
for  all  their  tools,  and  signs  to  put  each  other  on  their  guard 
when  threatened  by  any  danger. 

Their  principal  rope-ladder,  which  was  to  let  them  down 
from  the  roof  of  the  Bastille  to  the  moat,  was  one  hundred  and 
eighty  feet  long.  When  the  Bastille  was  captured  in  1789)  it 
was  found  in  the  museum  of  the  place,  among  the  curiosities 
of  the  prison. 

The  roof  of  the  Bastille,  after  they  should  have  descended 
twenty  feet  from  the  tower  in  which  they  were  confined,  pro- 
jected about  four  feet  over  the  main  building,  and  in  order 
to  keep  the  person  steady  who  should  be  descending  the  rope- 
ladder,  they  made  a  second  rope,  three  hundred  and  sixty 
feet  long,  which  was  to  be  reeved  through  a  block  for  the 
fugitive  to  hold  on  by. 

They  continued  to  manufacture  smaller  ropes  for  various 
purposes,  until  they  had  almost  fourteen  hundred  feet  of 
rope,  and  two  hundred  and  eight  wooden  rounds  for  their 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LATUDE.        8 1 

two  ladders.  These  rounds  were  muffled  by  strips  of  their 
clothing. 

Presuming  them  to  have  reached  the  moat,  the  next  ques- 
tion was  how  to  cross  the  wall,  which  was  at  all  times  lined 
with  sentinels.  They  dared  not  risk  the  darkness  of  a  rainy 
night,  and  were  afraid  of  the  torches  carried  by  the  Grand 
Round.  They  resolved,  if  necessary,  to  undermine  the  wall 
which  stood  between  the  moat  of  the  Bastille  and  the  Fosse 
of  the  Porte  St.  Antoine.  For  this  purpose  they  needed  an 
auger,  and  made  it  out  of  one  of  their  bed-screws. 

The  day  fixed  for  their  escape  was  Wednesday,  Feb.  5, 
1756,  seven  years  after  the  first  imprisonment  of  Latude. 
They  packed  up  a  portmanteau,  containing  for  each  of  them 
a  change  of  clothes,  and  provided  themselves  with  a  bottle 
of  cordial.  In  the  afternoon  they  risked  putting  together  their 
great  rope-ladder.  Happily  no  one  looked  in  upon  them, 
and  they  hid  it  under  a  bed.  The  gratings  were  already  out 
in  the  chimney. 

After  supper  their  turnkey  locked  them  in  for  the  night, 
and  the  moment  of  escape  had  arrived.  Latude  was  the  first 
to  climb  the  chimney.  He  had  rheumatism  in  his  arm,  but 
was  conscious  of  no  pain  under  the  influence  of  excitement. 
Choked  by  soot,  and  with  his  knees  and  arms  excoriated, 
he  reached  the  open  air,  and  sent  down  a  ball  of  twine  to 
D'Alegre,  who  tied  it  to  the  end  of  a  rope,  to  which  was  fas- 
tened their  portmanteau.  In  this  way  they  hauled  up  their 
various  stores.  D'Alegre  came  up  last  on  the  loose  end  of 
the  rope-ladder.  On  looking  over  the  roof  of  the  Bastille 
they  decided  to  descend  from  the  foot  of  another  tower,  the 
Tour  de  Tresson,  where  they  perceived  a  gun-carriage  to 
which  they  could  fasten  the  rope-ladder,  and  their  block  with 
the  guide-line.  Latude,  with  this  line  fastened  to  his  body, 
went  gently  down  the  ladder,  watched  breathlessly  by  his 
companion.  Notwithstanding  all  precautions,  he  swung  fear- 
fully. The  remembrance  of  it,  forty-five  years  after,  made 
him,  he  says,  shudder.  At  last  he  landed  safely  in  the  moat. 
D'Alegre  lowered  the  portmanteau  and  other  articles,  for 
which  a  dry  spot  on  the  bank  was  luckily  found.  When 

6 


82  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

these  things  were  all  down  he  descended,  and  found  Latude 
up  to  his  waist  in  water. 

It  was  with  much  regret  that  they  left  their  ropes  behind 
them.  Latude  recovered .  them  thirty-three  years  after,  July 
16,  1789,  and  they  were  publicly  exhibited  during  the  excite- 
ment that  succeeded  the  destruction  of  the  Bastille.  It  did 
not  rain,  and  they  heard  the  sentry  treading  his  rounds 
about  twelve  yards  from  them,  so  that  there  was  no  hope 
of  crossing  the  wall,  for  which  they  had  prepared  their 
wooden  ladder.  The  alternative  was  to  pierce  it.  The 
water  was  very  cold,  and  there  was  floating  ice  upon  its 
surface.  They  chose  the  deepest  part  of  the  moat,  and  for 
nine  hours  worked  in  water  up  to  their  arm-pits,  diving  when 
alarmed  by  the  torches  of  the  Grand  Round. 

At  last  through  a  wall  four  and  a  half  feet  thick,  they 
made  a  hole  wide  enough  to  admit  their  bodies.  They 
scrambled  through  into  the  Fosse  St.  Antoine,  got  out 
of  this,  and  were  rejoicing  in  their  safety,  when  they  fell 
into  another  drain  whose  situation  had  been  unknown  to 
them.  It  was  only  two  yards  wide,  but  it  was  very  deep, 
and  at  the  bottom  were  two  feet  of  slime  and  mud.  Latude 
fell  in  first,  and  D'Alegre.  on  top  of  him.  Vigorously  exert- 
ing himself,  however,  Latude  scrambled  out,  and  dragged 
up  his  companion  by  the  hair.  As  the  clocks  of  Paris  were 
striking  five  in  the  morning,  they  found  themselves  upon 
the  highway. 

Their  first  impulse  was  to  embrace  each  other,  their 
next  to  fall  down  on  their  knees  and  to  return  thanks  to 
the  Almighty.  They  then  proceeded  to  change  their  clothes, 
but  they  were  so  exhausted  that  neither  could  have  dressed 
himself  without  the  assistance  of  the  other. 

Getting  next  into  a  hackney-coach,  they  were  driven  to 
the  residence  of  M.  Silhouette,  chancellor  to  the  Due 
d'Orleans.  He  was  away  from  home.  They  then  took 
refuge  with  a  tailor  of  Languedoc. 

Here  they  remained  concealed  for  nearly  a  month,  while 
a  search  was  set  on  foot  for  them  in  all  directions.  D'Alegre 
left  first,  disguised  as  a  peasant,  and  went  to  Brussels  (then 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LATUDE.        83 

the  capital  of  the  Austrian  Netherlands),  sending  word  back 
to  Latude  that  he  was  safe,  by  some  secret  sign  arranged  be- 
tween them. 

Provided  with  false  papers  through  the  help  of  the  good 
tailor,  and  the  documents  of  an  old  lawsuit,  Latude  set  out 
upon  his  journey  to  Brussels.  He  walked  some  leagues  out 
of  Paris  and  let  the  diligence  to  Valenciennes  pick  him  up 
upon  the  high-road.  The  story  that  he  told  was  that  he 
was  a  servant  going  to  Amsterdam  to  carry  his  master's 
brother  some  important  papers.  He  met  with  several  small 
adventures  on  his  journey,  and  committed  some  acts  of 
imprudence ;  for  example,  on  passing  the  boundary  between 
France  and  Austria  (a  wooden  post,  painted  with  lilies 
on  one  side  and  an  imperial  eagle  on  the  other)  he  fell 
upon  his  face  and  kissed  the  dust,  to  the  amazement  of 
his  fellow-travellers.  Eleven  years  before  he  had  passed 
part  of  a  winter  in  Brussels ;  he  was  therefore  well  ac- 
quainted with  its  localities.  On  inquiring  for  his  friend  at 
the  Hotel  de  Coffi,  in  the  Place  de  1'Hotel  de  Ville,  where 
he  had  planned  to  meet  D'Alegre,  he  became  convinced, 
from  the  hesitation  and  prevarication  of  the  landlord,  that 
evil  had  befallen  his  comrade.  He  therefore  resolved  to 
start  at  once  for  Antwerp.  He  was  dressed  like  a  servant, 
and  travelled  like  one.  In  the  canal-boat  in  which  he 
took  his  passage,  he  found  a  chatty  young  Savoyard  chimney- 
sweep and  his  wife,  who  related  to  him,  as  news  of  the  day, 
the  details  of  his  own  escape,  and  ended  by  informing  him, 
that  one  of  the  two  fugitives  had  been  arrested  a  few  days 
before,  by  the  high  provost  of  Brussels,  who  had  sent  him 
at  once  over  the  French  frontier  in  charge  of  a  French 
police  officer.  The  Savoyard  added  that  this  story  had  been 
told  him  by  the  servant  of  an  official  who  had  charged  him  to 
keep  the  matter  close,  as  they  were  anxious  to  secure  the 
arrest  of  .the  other  party.  Greatly  alarmed  at  what  he 
heard,  and  full  of  solicitude  for  poor  D'Alegre,  Latude 
determined  to  break  off  from  the  Savoyard,  and  left  him 
at  the  first  stopping  place,  under  pretence  that  he  had 
taken  the  wrong  boat  for  Bergen-op-Zoom.  He  pushed 


84  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

on  alone  on  foot  until  he  reached  the  Dutch  frontier,  quak- 
ing at  every  footstep ;  for  the  fate  of  D'Alegre  proved  that 
the  Austrian  Netherlands  were  no  safe  asylum. 

He  had  had  seven  louis  d'or  (thirty-five  dollars)  when  he 
left  Paris,  and  this  little  sum  was  now  exhausted.  While  try- 
ing to  relieve  his  hunger  on  a  canal-boat  by  some  black  bread 
and  a  salad  of  grass,  he  excited  the  compassion  of  Jan 
Seerhorst,  who  kept  a  sort  of  tavern  in  Amsterdam.  This 
man  took  him  under  his  protection  and  promised  to  intro- 
duce him  to  a  Frenchman,  who  proved,  however,  to  be  from 
Picardy,  and  acknowledged  little  fellowship  with  a  native 
of  Languedoc ;  but  Seerhorst,  seeing  the  disappointment  of 
Latude,  took  him  to  his  own  abode,  where  he  slept  with 
five  other  persons  in  a  cellar. 

Chance  next  threw  our  escaped  prisoner  in  the  way 
of  a  native  of  the  same  town  as  himself,  named  Louis 
Clergue,  who  gave  him  clothes,  linen,  and  a  comfortable 
chamber.  On  learning  his  story,  he  expressed  great  alarm 
lest  the  same  power  that  had  arrested  D'Alegre  in  the  Aus- 
trian Netherlands  should  extend  to  Holland.  '  He  proposed 
to  get  Latude  a  passport  to  Surinam,  but  the  young  man, 
made  confident  by  the  opinion  of  Clergue's  friends  that 
the  States-General  would  never  betray  an  unfortunate  fugi- 
tive, decided  to  remain  in  Amsterdam. 

The  French  ambassador  at  the  Hague  was  already  negotiat- 
ing for  his  arrest.  Among  the  records  of  the  Bastille  were 
found  proofs  that  it  cost  the  French  Government  upwards 
of  forty  thousand  dollars  to  effect  his  recapture.  Part  of 
this  money  is  supposed  to  have  been  spent  in  bribery. 

June  i,  1756,  as  Latude  went  to  a  bank  to  receive  a 
letter  and  remittance  from  his  father,  he  was  arrested  in 
broad  daylight,  and  dragged  through  the  streets  of  Amster- 
dam with  violence  and  blows,  like  a  notorious  criminal. 

In  vain  Louis  Clergue  and  his  friends  protested  against 
the  outrage.  Latude  was  closely  confined,  and  permission 
had  been  obtained  from  the  Archduke  Charles,  the  repre- 
sentative of  Maria  Theresa,  to  take  him  through  Austrian 
territory.  When  this  arrived,  with  a  belt  around  his  body 


IMPRISONMENTS  9lND  ESCAPES  OF  LATUDE.       85 

to  which  his  arms  were  pinioned,  Latffde  began  his  journey 
under  charge  of  Saint-Marc,  a  French  agent  of  police  who 
had  arrested  him. 

Travelling  with  all  kinds  of  tortures  and  indignities, 
Latude  arrived  at  Lille.  There  he  was  fastened  for  the 
night  to  a  deserter  of  nineteen,  who  was  to  be  hanged 
next  day,  and  who  proposed  that  they  should  strangle  each 
other.  The  next  evening  he  reached  the  Bastille.  Here 
Saint-Marc  received  a  sort  of  ovation,  and  Latude  was 
committed  to  a  dungeon  under  charge  of  his  former  jailers, 
who  had  suffered  three  months'  imprisonment  for  his 
escape. 

In  this  dungeon,  desperate  and  hopeless  as  his  situation 
was,  he  still  found  something  to  cheer  and  occupy  him. 
He  made  friends  with  the  rats,  numbers  of  which  came 
hunting  for  food  and  lodging  in  his  straw.  The  dungeons 
in  the  Bastille  were  octagonal.  The  one  in  which  he  was 
confined  had  loopholes  eighteen  inches  wide  on  the  interior, 
reduced  to  three  inches  by  the  time  they  reached  the  outer 
wall.  There  was  no  furniture  in  the  dungeon,  and  the 
sills  of  the  loopholes  served  for  seat  and  table.  Latude 
often  rested  his  chained  arms  upon  these  slabs  to  lighten 
the  weight  of  his  fetters. 

One  day  while  in  this  attitude  a  rat  approached  him. 
He  threw  it  a  bit  of  bread.  The  rat  ate  it  eagerly,  and 
when  his  appetite  was  satisfied  carried  off  a  crust  into  his 
hole.  The  next  day  he  came  again,  and  was  rewarded 
by  more  bread  and  a  bit  of  bacon.  The  third  day  he  would 
take  food  from  Latude's  hand.  After  this  he  took  up  his 
quarters  in  a  hole  in  the  wall  near  the  window,  and  after 
sleeping  in  it  two  nights,  brought  to  it  a  female  companion. 
Sometimes  she  quarrelled  with  her  mate  over  their  food,  and 
generally  had  the  best  of  it,  retiring  to  her  sleeping  place 
with  the  disputed  morsel.  On  such  occasions  the  old  rat 
would  seek  refuge  with  Latude,  and  devour  out  of  his 
mate's  reach  whatever  was  given  him,  with  an  air  of 
bravado. 

Soon,  whenever  dinner  was  brought  in,  Latude  called  his 


86  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

family.  The  male  rat  would  come  immediately,  the  female 
more  timidly.  Soon  appeared  a  third  rat,  very  familiar  and 
sociable,  who  no  sooner  felt  at  home  than  he  proceeded  to 
introduce  seven  others.  At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  the  family 
consisted  of  ten  large  rats,  and  subsequently  of  their  pro- 
geny. They  would  eat  off  a  plate  that  their  human  friend 
provided  for  them,  and  liked  to  have  their  necks  scratched, 
but  he  was  never  suffered  to  touch  one  on  the  back.  He 
gave  them  all  names  to  which  they  learned  to  answer, 
and  taught  them  tricks  of  various  kinds.  One  of  them, 
a  female,  was  a  remarkable  jumper,  and  very  proud  of  her 
accomplishment. 

For  two  years  Latude  solaced  his  captivity  by  this  strange 
society.  One  day  he  found  a  bit  of  elder  in  his  cell,  brought  in 
in  some  fresh  straw;  and  although  his  hands  were  manacled, 
he  contrived,  by  the  help  of  a  buckle  from  his  small-clothes, 
to  fashion  it  into  a  flageolet.  His  attachment  to  this  instru- 
ment was  such  that  he  never  parted  with  it  during  his 
lifetime. 

At  last  he  bethought  him  of  the  advantage  it  would  be  to 
the  French  army  if  its  sergeants  as  well  as  privates  carried 
fire-arms,  instead  of  the  old-fashioned  halberd,  half  pike,  half 
battle-axe.  He  proposed  to  recommend  this  improvement 
to  the  king,  hoping  thus  to  direct  his  attention  to  himself. 
He  was  no  longer  allowed  pen  and  paper.  He  had  there- 
fore to  invent  substitutes.  His  paper  was  made  out  of 
tablets  of  moistened  bread,  his  pen  was  a  sharp  fish-bone, 
and  his  ink  his  blood. 

When  he  had  finished  his  memorial,  he  obtained  per- 
mission to  see  Father  Griffet,  the  confessor  of  the  Bastille. 
From  him  he  obtained  writing  materials,  and  in  April,  1758, 
the  memorial  was  presented  to  Louis  XV. 

The  plan,  being  found  beneficial  to  the  service  (as  it  in- 
creased the  effective  force  by  twenty  thousand  men),  was 
carried  out ;  but  no  notice  was  taken  of  Latude. 

Three  months  passed,  and  he  ventured  on  a  new  sugges- 
tion. This  was  to  add  a  cent  and  a  half  to  the  postage  of 
every  letter,  and  use  the  proceeds  as  a  fund  to  pension  the 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LATUDE.        8/ 

widows  of  officers  and  soldiers  killed  in  battle.  This  likewise 
was  adopted,  so  far  as  the  increased  postage  went ;  but  the 
prisoner  was  still  disregarded. 

Among  the  papers  found  in  the  Bastille  when  it  was 
sacked  in  1789,  was  a  letter  from  an  oculist,  Dr.  Dejean, 
ordered  about  this  time  to  examine  Latude's  eyes.  Each 
prisoner  au  secret  had  a  prison  name ;  that  of  Latude  was 
Daury. 

MONSIEUR,  —  In  compliance  with  your  wishes  I  have  several 
times  visited  the  prisoner  Daury  in  the  Bastille.  Having  care- 
fully examined  his  eyes,  and  reflected  on  all  he  has  communi- 
cated, I  am  not  surprised  that  his  sight  has  almost  entirely 
failed.  For  many  years  he  has  been  deprived  of  sun  and  air; 
he  has  been  chained  hand  and  foot  in  a  cell  for  forty  months. 
.  .  .  The  winter  of  1756-57  was  extremely  severe;  the  Seine 
was  frozen  over,  as  in  the  year  preceding.  During  this  period 
the  prisoner  was  confined  in  a  dungeon  with  irons  on  his  hands 
and  feet,  and  no  bed  but  a  truss  of  straw,  without  covering. 
In  his  cell  there  are  two  loopholes,  five  inches  wide,  and  about 
five  feet  long,  with  neither  panes  of  glass  nor  shutters  to  close 
them.  Throughout  the  day  and  night  his  face  is  exposed  to  the 
cold  and  wind,  and  there  is  nothing  so  destructive  to  the  sight 
as  frosty  air,  —  especially  during  sleep.  A  continual  running 
at  the  nose  has  split  his  upper  lip  until  the  teeth  are  exposed; 
the  intense  cold  has  decayed  them,  and  the  roots  of  his  mus- 
tachios  have  likewise  perished.  (The  walls  of  the  Bastille  are 
from  nine  to  ten  feet  thick,  consequently  the  chambers  are  ex- 
tremely damp.)  This  prisoner,  unable  to  endure  his  situation, 
resolved  to  commit  suicide.  With  this  object  he  remained 
one  hundred  and  thirty-three  hours  without  eating  or  drinking. 
They  forced  open  his  mouth  with  keys,  and  compelled  him  to 
swallow  food  by  main  force.  Seeing  himself  restored  to  life 
against  his  will,  he  contrived  to  secrete  a  piece  of  broken  glass, 
with  which  he  opened  four  principal  veins.  During  the  night 
his  blood  flowed  incessantly,  and  there  remained  scarcely  six 
ounces  in  his  body.  He  continued  many  days  in  a  state  of  in- 
sensibility. .  .  *  He  is  no  longer  a  young  man,  and  has  passed 
the  meridian  of  life,  being  forty-two  years  old,  and  has  gone 
through  very  severe  trials.  For  fifteen  years  he  has  been  a 
constant  prisoner,  and  during  seven  of  them  entirely  deprived 
of  fire,  light,  and  sun.  ...  I  have  considered  it  my  duty  to  be 


88  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

thus  minute  in  my  report,  as  it  is  useless  to  waste  the  public 
money  in  paying  me  for  my  visits  or  remedies.  Nothing  but 
the  termination  of  his  sufferings,  with  fresh  air  and  exercise, 
can  preserve  to  the  prisoner  the  feeble  remnant  of  his  eyesight. 
Air  will  strengthen  every  part  of  his  frame,  and  exercise  will 
disperse  the  humors  in  his  head,  which  at  present  bring  on 
the  convulsive  fits  he  is  subject  to, — fits  which  will  ultimately 
extinguish  the  powers  of  vision. 

(Signed)  DEJEAN. 

This  heart-rending  letter  produced  no  effect.  It  needed 
an  overflow  of  the  Seine,  which  put  the  floor  of  the  dungeon 
under  water,  and  wet  the  feet  of  the  turnkeys  who  brought 
him  food,  to  procure  any  alleviation. 

The  room  into  which  he  was  next  moved  had  a  view  of 
the  open  sky,  and  was  much  less  damp  and  miserable.  He 
was  separated,  however,  from  his  rats,  which  he  regretted 
bitterly  until  he  contrived  to  tame  two  beautiful  white 
pigeons,  which  he  caught  from  his  loophole  with  a  noose. 
His  delight  when  the  pigeons  built  their  nest,  and  hatched 
their  brood  inside  his  cell,  amounted  to  ecstasy.  All  the 
officers  of  the  Bastille  came  to  look  at  them.  But,  alas !  the 
turnkey  (one  of  those  wlio  had  suffered  punishment  some 
years  before  for  his  escape)  resolved  to  deprive  him  of  his 
pets,  or  to  make  him  pay  dear  for  the  privilege  of  keeping 
them.  He  already  received  one  bottle  of  wine  in  seven  of 
the  prisoner's  allowance.  He  now  demanded  four  ;  and  when 
this  was  refused,  he  pretended  an  order  from  the  governor 
to  kill  the  pigeons.  Latude's  despair  drove  him  to  sudden 
madness.  The  turnkey  made  a  movement  towards  the 
birds.  Latude  sprang  forward,  and  with  his  own  hands 
destroyed  them.  "This  was  probably,"  he  says,  "the  most 
unhappy  moment  of  my  whole  existence.  I  never  recall  the 
memory  of  it  without  the  bitterest  pangs.  I  remained  sev- 
eral days  without  taking  nourishment.  Grief  and  indigna- 
tion divided  my  soul." 

Not  long  after  this  a  change  came  in  his  condition.  A 
new  governor,  the  Comte  de  Jumilhac,  came  to  the  Bastille. 
He  was  a  man  of  generosity  and  mercy,  and  took  pity  on 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LA  TUDE.        89 

Latude,  whom  he  permitted  to  walk  every  day  two  hours 
on  the  roof.  He  also  procured  him  an  interview  with  M.  de 
Sartine,  lieutenant  of  police,  who  had  succeeded  M.  Berryer. 
From  this  time  forth  for  twenty  years  Latude's  existence  was 
one  long  struggle  with  De  Sartine. 

Encouraged  by  the  interest  which  at  first  he  believed 
himself  to  have  inspired  in  the  new  minister,  he  made  two 
new  plans  for  the  good  of  the  public  :  one  for  the  better 
regulation  of  the  currency,  subsequently  adopted,  with  little 
benefit  to  France,  by  the  National  Assembly ;  the  other  a 
plan  for  the  establishment  of  national  granaries,  the  ex- 
penses of  which  were  to  be  met  by  a  tax  on  marriage. 

This  plan  was  considered  so  important  that  De  Sartine 
wished  to  adopt  it  as  his  own,  and  offered  his  prisoner  an 
annuity  of  three  hundred  dollars  to  give  it  up,  promising  his 
influence  to  procure  his  liberation.  "  I  would  not  part  with 
my  plan  for  fifty  thousand  crowns  down ! "  cried  Latude, 
vehemently. 

"  If  I  were  in  your  place,"  said  the  aide  tnajeur  of  the 
Bastille,  deputed  to  conduct  the  negotiation,  "  I  should  think 
myself  too  happy  to  receive  the  proposal." 

"No  doubt  you  would  —  if  I  were  you!"  replied  the 
prisoner,  with  a  sneer.  He  thus  made  himself  two  powerful 
enemies ;  and  Father  Griffet  prophesied  the  truth  when  he 
told  him,  "  Your  refusal,  and  more  particularly  the  manner 
in  which  you  made  it,  will  incense  M.  de  Sartine  against  you, 
and  I  fear  he  will  give  you  reason  to  repent." 

The  food  of  the  Bastille  seems  to  have  been  sufficient, 
though  Latude  complained  bitterly  about  the  cooking.  It 
ought  to  have  been  far  better  than  it  was,  for  the  king  paid 
from  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  to  two  dollars  a  day  for  the 
subsistence  of  each  prisoner. 

Whilst  walking  on  the  roof  of  the  Bastille,  Latude  heard 
from  a  soldier  who  had  served  under  his  father,  that  the  old 
man  was  dead.  This  cut  off  his  supplies  of  money.  From 
that  time  his  relations  took  little  notice  of  him,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  his  mother,  who  must  have  been  a  second  wife, 
as  she  speaks  of  him  as  her  only  son,  while  he  tells  us  that 


go  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

his  elder  brother,  the  Comte  de  Vissac,  succeeded  to  the  title 
of  Marquis  de  Latude. 

Here  is  a  letter  that  the  poor  mother  addressed  to  the 
Marquise  de  Pompadour.  She  was  occasionally  permitted 
to  send  a  letter  to  her  son :  — 

"  My  son,  madame,  has  long  groaned  in  the  dungeons  of  the 
Bastille  for  having  had  the  misfortune  to  offend  you.  My  grief 
surpasses  his.  Day  and  night  his  sad  fate  torments  my  imagi- 
nation. I  share  all  the  agony  of  his  sufferings  without  having 
participated  in  his  fault.  What  do  I  say?  Alas!  I  know  not 
how  he  has  displeased  you.  He  was  young,  and  had  been  led 
astray  by  others.  How  differently  must  he  reason  now  !  The 
reflections  of  a  prisoner  are  very  opposite  to  the  vain  thoughts 
of  unbridled  youth.  If  he,  madame,  is  unworthy  of  your  par- 
don, extend  your  indulgence  to  me  in  his  stead ;  feel  for  my 
situation ;  have  compassion  on  an  afflicted  mother ;  let  your 
heart  be  softened  by  my  tears.  Death  will  soon  close  my  eyes. 
Do  not  wait  till  I  am  in  my  grave  to  show  compassion  to  my 
son.  He  is  my  only  child,  the  sole  shoot  of  the  stock,  the  last 
scion  of  my  family,  the  only  prop  of  my  old  age.  Restore  him 
to  me,  madame,  you  who  are  so  kind-hearted  (si  bonne).  Do 
not  refuse  me  my  son,  madame ;  give  him  up  to  my  affliction ; 
restore  him  to  my  entreaties,  my  sighs,  my  tears." 

Latude's  next  attempt  was  to  throw  a  package  from  the 
roof  of  the  Bastille  to  some  one  who  would  pick  it  up  and 
forward  it  to  its  destination.  Having  made  himself  as  ob- 
noxious as  possible  to  the  aide  majeur  and  two  sergeants 
deputed  to  watch  him  in  his  walk,  he  was  left  to  himself 
while  they  conversed  together  ;  and  he  contrived  to  establish 
a  correspondence  by  signs  with  two  young  workwomen,  whom 
he  observed  at  an  upper  window  in  a  neighboring  street. 
After  some  time  he  made  them  understand  that  he  would 
throw  them  a  package. 

This  package  the  arrogant,  exasperated,  imprudent  young 
man  filled  with  a  memorial  addressed  to  a  literary  man 
named  La  Beaumelle,  containing  a  secret  history  of  Madame 
de  Pompadour's  early  life,  abounding  in  scandals.  "  I 
steeped  my  pen  in  the  gall  with  which  my  whole  heart  and 


MME.  DE  POMPADOUR. 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LATUDE.       91 

soul  were  overflowing,"  he  says.  He  wrote  upon  a  shirt,  with 
a  pen  which,  in  anticipation  of  our  pens  of  the  present  day, 
he  fashioned  out  of  a  copper  coin.  But  ink  was  wanting. 
For  eight  years  he  had  never  been  allowed  fire  or  candle. 
He  affected  toothache,  got  one  of  his  guards  to  let  him  have 
a  whiff  or  two  of  his  pipe,  and  having  let  it  go  out  begged 
for  his  tinder-box  to  light  it  again.  In  this  way  he  obtained 
and  secreted  a  bit  of  tinder.  Next  he  pretended  to  be 
taken  with  violent  pains,  and  the  doctor  ordered  him  some 
oil.  This  he  put  in  a  pomatum  pot  with  a  wick  made  of 
threads  drawn  from  his  linen.  By  friction  he  obtained  a 
spark  which  set  fire  to  his  tinder.  It  enabled  him  to  light 
his  lamp,  and  he  was  in  an  ecstasy  of  triumph  and  happiness. 
With  this  lamp  and  an  old  plate,  he  got  lamp-black,  which 
he  mixed  with  some  syrup  prescribed  for  him  by  the  doc- 
tor, and  then  proceeded  to  pen  his  memorial  to  his  own 
destruction. 

Sept.  21,  1763,  he  flung  his  package.  Mademoiselle 
Lebrun  picked  it  up  as  he  intended,  and  he  waited  the  re- 
sult. Nothing  came  of  it,  however,  until  April  18,  1764, 
when  the  sisters  held  up  a  placard  at  their  window  :  "  The 
Marchioness  de  Pompadour  died  yesterday."  Wild  with  de- 
light and  hope,  he  wrote  on  the  instant  (having  in  the  interval 
been  permitted  to  receive  writing  materials)  to  demand  his 
liberation  from  M.  de  Sartine.  Every  official  in  the  Bastille 
had  been  charged  not  to  communicate  the  news  of  Madame 
de  Pompadour's  death  to  the  prisoners.  The  lieutenant  of 
police  was  therefore  amazed  on  the  receipt  of  this  letter. 
He  sent  for  Latude,  and  told  him  that  his  liberation  de- 
pended upon  his  divulging  the  channel  through  which  the 
news  had  reached  him.  Latude  broke  into  violent  language, 
little  calculated  to  advance  his  interests.  In  vain  he  subse- 
quently offered  De  Sartine  the  project  about  the  granaries ; 
the  personal  enmity  of  Madame  de  Pompadour  had  passed 
into  the  body  of  the  minister,  and  a  few  months  later  Latude 
further  exasperated  De  Sartine  by  writing  him  another  abusive 
and  indignant  letter.  In  consequence  of  this,  he  was  re- 
moved to  Vincennes  with  especial  orders  to  the  governor  to 


92  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION, 

keep  him  safe,  and  to  put  him  in  an  oubliette.  Here  he 
was  taken  very  ill,  and  the  good  governor,  M.  Guyonnet, 
took  pity  upon  him.  He  gave  him  a  better  chamber  and 
allowed  him  to  walk,  attended  by  three  guards,  in  the  garden 
of  the  castle.  The  result  of  this  last  indulgence  was  that 
Latude  made  his  escape  in  a  dense  fog.  "  Seize  him  ! 
seize  him  !  "  was  shouted  all  over  the  grounds  of  the  castle. 
"Seize  him  !"  cried  Latude,  running  ahead  of  the  others, 
until  he  reached  the  sentry  at  the  gate,  whom  he  threw  down, 
and  jumped  over  as  the  man  was  gaping  with  surprise. 

Latude  took  refuge  close  to  the  Bastille  with  the  Lebrun 
sisters.  They  were  daughters  of  a  hair-dresser,  and  were 
poor,  but  very  good  to  him.  They  had,  however,  mismanaged 
his  memorial.  His  scheme  had  been  to  place  it  in  safe 
hands,  while  he  threatened  Madame  de  Pompadour  with 
its  circulation.  The  first  thing  he  did  in  the  Lebrun  house 
was  to  write  a  letter  of  repentance  and  submission  to  M. 
de  Sartine. 

What  effect  this  appeal  may  have  produced  cannot  be 
known.  Its  answer  miscarried  ;  and  Latude,  more  angry  than 
ever  at  finding  no  notice  taken  of  what  he  wrote,  threw  him- 
self at  the  feet  of  the  Prince  de  Conti. 

A  reward  of  one  thousand  crowns  was  this  time  offered  for 
his  return  to  prison.  All  channels  of  communication  with 
the  court  appeared  to  be  closed.  He,  however,  contrived 
in  the  middle  of  winter,  weary,  torn,  famished,  and  looking 
like  a  lunatic,  to  reach  Fontainebleau,  and  there  requested 
an  audience  with  the  good  Due  de  Choiseul,  the  prime  min- 
ister. The  duke,  influenced,  as  Latude  maintains,  by  M.  de 
Sartine,  believed  him  to  be  out  of  his  senses,  and  returned 
him  into  the  power  of  the  police,  who  restored  him  to  Vin- 
cennes,  where  he  was  immured  in  a  more  frightful  dungeon 
than  any  he  had  yet  inhabited.  It  had  four  iron-plate  doors, 
each  one  foot  from  the  other,  and  no  other  opening  whatever. 
It  was  six  and  one  half  feet  long  by  five  and  three  quarters 
wide,  just  long  enough  to  lie  down  in.  Here,  to  increase 
his  sufferings,  he  was  informed  that  Viel-Castel,  the  sergeant 
from  whom  he  had  escaped,  had  been  hanged.  Months  after, 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LA  TUDE.       93 

a  compassionate  sentinel,  moved  by  his  grief  at  the  supposed 
fate  of  the  poor  fellow,  assured  him  that  it  was  a  falsehood. 

His  escape  put  it  out  of  M.  Guyonnet's  power  to  give  him 
any  more  indulgences.  "  M.  de  Sartine,"  he  said  to  his 
prisoner,  "  lays  the  blame  of  your  escape  on  me.  He  is 
furious  at  it.  Your  case  is  hopeless.  From  henceforward  I 
can  only  pity  you."  Here  is  a  letter  from  him,  however,  at 
this  period,  found  among  the  records  of  the  Bastille. 

To  M.  de  Sartine, 

MONSIEUR,  —  I  have  this  morning  visited  the  prisoner 
Daury.  I  found  him  given  up  to  despair  as  usual,  but  always 
submissive,  and  entirely  disposed  to  agree  with  any  conditions 
you  may  prescribe  as  the  price  of  his  liberty.  I  am  sorry  to 
add  that  grief  has  destroyed  his  appetite,  but  he  still  retains  his 
mental  faculties.  Heaven  grant  this  may  continue  !  I  have  the 
honor  to  be,  etc.,  etc. 

About  this  time  three  of  the  police  were  sent  by  M.  de 
Sartine  to  say  :  "  You  can  by  one  word  obtain  your  liberty. 
Give  M.  de  Sartine  the  name  and  the  address  of  the  person 
who  has  possession  of  your  papers.  He  pledges  his  word 
of  honor  no  evil  shall  be  practised  towards  him."  Latude 
replied  :  "  I  entered  this  dungeon  an  honest  man ;  I  will 
die  rather  than  leave  it  a  knave  and  a  coward." 

After  this,  in  frightful  darkness,  for  in  the  oubliette  he 
could  distinguish  neither  night  nor  day,  his  sufferings  would 
have  reached  their  close,  had  not  a  compassionate  turnkey 
brought  the  prison  doctor  to  visit  him,  who  insisted  he  must 
be  moved  at  once  to  a  better  room.  The  reply  was  that  M. 
de  Sartine  had  expressly  forbidden  it.  The  doctor,  however, 
insisted,  and  the  removal  was  accomplished.  By  degrees  his 
strength  returned  to  him,  and  he  requested  pen  and  ink  to 
write  to  M.  de  Sartine.  These  were  judiciously  refused  him. 
Probably  the  officers  at  Vincennes  were  afraid  lest  the  lieu- 
tenant of  police  should  find  out  that  he  was  not  still  in  his 
dungeon. 

His  next  enterprise  was  to  bore  a  hole  with  an  auger 
through  the  wall  of  the  donjon  of  Vincennes.  This  he  did 


94  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

by  means  of  part  of  an  old  sword  and  an  iron  hoop  from  a 
bucket,  which  a  year  before  he  had  picked  up  and  secreted 
in  the  garden.  This  garden  he  was  no  longer  allowed  to 
walk  in,  but  by  a  stratagem  he  succeeded  in  being  double- 
locked  into  it  for  half  an  hour,  and  returned  to  his  prison 
very  happy,  with  the  broken  sword  in  the  leg  of  his  drawers, 
and  the  hoop  round  his  body. 

The  granite  wall  was  five  feet  thick.  It  took  Latude 
twenty-six  months,  with  his  imperfect  tools,  to  make  his 
aperture.  The  hole  was  long  displayed  to  visitors,  and 
very  probably  may  still  be  seen.  Latude  himself  showed  it 
to  the  Prince  de  Beauvau  during  the  early  days  of  the 
Revolution.  It  was  made  in  the  shadow  of  the  chimney- 
piece,  and  closed  by  a  cork  ;  a  long  peg  was  thrust  through 
it,  not  quite  the  length  of  the  hole.  If  anybody  had 
observed  it  from  without,  or  sounded  it,  they  would  have 
found  it  only  two  inches  deep  upon  the  garden  side. 
Latude  then  fashioned  a  wooden  wand  about  six  feet  long. 
To  this  he  tied  a  bit  of  ribbon,  and  thrusting  it  through  the 
hole  he  secured  the  attention  of  a  prisoner  who  was  walking 
in  the  garden.  This  was  a  Baron  de  Venae  from  Languedoc, 
confined  nineteen  years  for  offering  impertinent  advice  to 
Madame  de  Pompadour.  There  was  another  prisoner  there, 
arrested  on  suspicion  of  having  spoken  ill  of  the  same 
infamous  woman.  There  was  also  an  Abbe'  Prieur,  who  had 
conceived  the  idea  of  phonetic  spelling.  He  wrote  on  the 
subject  to  Frederick  the  Great,  as  one  of  the  patrons  of  men 
of  literature,  "  a  letter  consisting  of  words  of  his  own  com- 
position, and  of  course  they  were  wholly  illegible."  Accord- 
ing to  custom,  it  was  opened  at  the  post-office.  Ministers, 
not  being  able  to  comprehend  the  contents,  imagined  they 
beheld  hieroglyphics  full  of  treason  and  danger,  and  the 
unfortunate  abbe"  was  committed  to  Vincennes  for  an  offense, 
adds  Latude,  "  that  at  most  merited  a  short  confinement  in  a 
mad-house  to  teach  him  to  spell."  He  had  been  in  captivity 
seven  years. 

Another  prisoner  had  been  arrested  at  Antwerp  on  suspi- 
cion of  being  the  author  of  a  pamphlet  against  Madame  de 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LA  TUDE.       95 

Pompadour,  which  he  had  never  seen.  He  had  been  twenty- 
three  years  in  confinement.  No  evidence  had  ever  been 
produced  against  him,  nor  had  he  ever  been  allowed  any 
opportunity  of  proving  his  innocence.  An  old  man  whose 
daughter  was  an  inmate  of  the  Pare  aux  Cerfs,  was  confined 
on  a  lettre  de  cachet  obtained  by  that  daughter,  who  dreaded 
his  remonstrances  on  the  infamy  of  her  career. 

There  were  also  three  other  prisoners  in  close  confinement 
for  daring  to  express  the  views  of  honest  men  upon  an  in- 
famous monopoly,  which  towards  the  end  of  Louis  XV. 's 
reign  almost  reduced  the  kingdom  to  bankruptcy. 

All  these  prisoners  were  confined  on  lettres  de  cachet,  which 
were  orders  for  the  arrest  and  imprisonment  of  individuals 
in  the  king's  own  handwriting,  countersigned  by  a  secretary 
of  state  and  sealed  with  the  king's  seal.  Many  of  these 
were  distributed  to  important  persons,  and  to  heads  of  noble 
families,  who  kept  them  for  their  own  use,  and  filled  up  the 
space  left  blank  for  the  prisoner's  name  with  that  of  some 
victim  of  their  own  selection.  No  one  imprisoned  on  a 
kttre  de  cachet  could  be  defended  by  counsel.  I? ami  des 
hommes,  the  father  of  Mirabeau,  is  said  to  have  used  fifteen 
of  them.  When  a  member  of  a  noble  house  had  done  any- 
thing to  offend  its  head,  or  had  committed  any  offense  whose 
exposure  would  have  been  painful  to  other  members  of  his 
family,  he  was  quietly  disposed  of  by  a  lettre  de  cachet. 

One  day  in  1774  Latude,  in  a  fit  of  petulance,  declared 
that  he  would  rather  be  sent  back  to  his  oubliette,  never  to 
quit  it  until  M.  de  Sartine  sent  a  lawyer  to  hear  and  to 
advise  him,  than  remain  forever  disregarded.  He  was  taken 
at  his  word,  and  the  next  day  was  removed  to  the  dark  and 
loathsome  cell  he  had  once  nearly  died  in.  About  this  time 
M.  de  Sartine  was  made  minister  of  marine,  and  his  place 
in  the  police  was  supplied  by  his  personal  friend  Lenoir. 

Not  knowing  of  this  change,  and  still  endeavoring  to  write 
to  M.  de  Sartine,  Latude  on  one  occasion  procured  a  light 
by  means  of  several  straws  tied  together,  which  he  thrust  out, 
while  his  jailer's  attention  was  turned  a  moment,  to  a  candle 
that  the  man  had  brought  into  the  gallery  while  handing  to 


96  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

the  prisoner  his  daily  food.  With  this  Latude  instantly  lighted 
a  lamp  he  had  prepared  in  his  pomatum  pot,  and  covered  it 
over  with  a  sort  of  beehive  he  had  constructed  with  wisps  of 
straw.  When  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  possessed  him- 
self of  a  light,  the  turnkeys  began  to  dread  him  as  one  who 
had  a  familiar  demon. 

All  the  pains  he  took  to  address  M.  de  Sartine  in  various 
strains,  vituperative  or  pathetic,  were  entirely  useless.  That 
minister  had  long  before  given  orders  that  no  letters  from 
Latude  were  to  be  opened,  even  by  his  secretary.  When 
the  Bastille  was  destroyed,  nearly  one  hundred  of  these  docu- 
ments were  found  with  their  seals  unbroken. 

It  seems  probable  that  at  this  period  Latude  really  lost 
his  reason.  As  he  was  recovering,  having  been  removed  to 
a  better  chamber,  the  door  of  his  cell  opened,  and  the  lieu- 
tenant of  police  announced  a  visit  from  the  prime  minister, 
the  good  and  great  M.  de  Malesherbes.  When  Latude  told 
him  he  had  been  imprisoned  twenty-six  years,  his  face 
expressed  the  deepest  indignation.  He  told  him  to  take 
heart,  supplied  him  with  money,  and  took  him  under  his 
protection.  But  De  Sartine,  as  Latude  always  suspected,  did 
all  that  fear  and  vengeance  could  suggest  to  prevent  his 
liberation.  He  informed  M.  de  Malesherbes  that  Latude 
was  a  confirmed  lunatic,  and  he  was  in  consequence  re- 
moved to  the  hospital  for  insane  prisoners  at  Charenton. 

He  went  to  this  place  with  the  new  name  of  Le  Danger 
instead  of  that  of  Daury,  and  with  an  especial  recommenda- 
tion to  the  brethren  who  had  charge  of  the  insane  to  treat 
him  with  severity.  It  was  not  long,  however,  before  he 
entered  into  communication  with  prisoners  in  the  next 
chamber.  These  were  not  lunatics  ;  they  were  young  men 
of  good  family  but  ungovernable  dispositions,  confined  by 
their  relatives  on  lettres  de  cachet.  They  led  sufficiently 
comfortable  lives,  had  good  food  and  good  society.  The 
chief  among  them  was  a  young  man  named  Saint-Luc,  who 
took  compassion  on  Latude,  and  succeeded  in  interesting 
the  brethren  in  his  protege.  Latude  became  a  favorite  even 
among  the  madmen. 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LA  TUDE.       97 

Among  these  last  at  Charenton  were  some  who  were 
subject  to  periodical  fits  of  frenzy.  While  these  lasted  they 
were  chained  in  subterranean  dens,  or  confined  in  iron 
cages.  When  they  recovered  they  were  taken  back  to  the 
other  prisoners.  One  of  these  men  told  Latude  that  in  one 
of  the  dreadful  cages  was  D'Alegre,  his  former  comrade. 
His  mind  had  given  way  after  he  was  restored  to  the  Bastille. 
He  had  become  a  raving  maniac,  and  for  ten  years  had 
been  confined  at  Charenton.  Latude  requested  permission 
to  visit  him.  He  found  a  squalid  spectre,  who  replied  to 
all  he  said  to  him  with  curses.  In  vain  Latude  tried  to 
recall  himself  to  his  remembrance.  This  was  in  17  70. 
D'Alegre  was  still  living  in  1790. 

Thanks  to  the  good  offices  of  one  of  the  prisoners,  con- 
fined under  a  lettre  de  cachet  for  drawing  his  sword  upon 
his  elder  brother,  an  order  for  Latude's  liberation  (July  7, 
1777)  at  last  reached  him.  He  set  out  on  the  instant  for 
Paris  —  like  a  madman  —  clad  in  rags,  and  without  a  sou 
in  his  pocket. 

On  arriving,  he  sought  out  a  man  from  his  own  village, 
who  told  him  that  the  people  of  that  place  believed  that 
after  his  escape  to  Holland  he  had  embarked  for  the  West 
Indies,  and  had  perished  on  the  ocean.  This  man  lent 
him  twenty-five  louis.  With  this  money  he  fitted  himself 
out  with  clothes,  and  next  day  visited,  as  he  had  been 
directed  to  do,  the  lieutenant  of  police,  M.  Lenoir. 

The  order  for  his  release  had  been  accompanied  by  direc- 
tions to  repair  at  once  to  his  native  town  of  Montagnac, 
which  order  Latude  was  determined  to  evade,  if  possible. 

Lenoir  received  him  kindly  enough,  and  gave  him  the 
address  of  a  person  charged  by  his  family  to  provide  him 
with  necessaries.  He  even  allowed  him  to  go  to  Versailles 
to  see  the  mother  of  his  prison  friend.  At  Versailles,  by 
some  means,  he  obtained  an  audience  with  the  king  (then 
Louis  XVI.),  and  told  his  story.  What  he  said  on  this 
occasion  probably  roused  the  fears  and  anger  of  the  king's 
ministers.  He  was  ordered  to  leave  Paris  at  once,  and 
found  himself  under  the  deepest  displeasure  of  Lenoir. 

7 


98  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

Alarmed  at  this,  he  took  passage  on  a  flatboat  to  Auxerre. 
Three  days  later  he  was  arrested  on  the  road,  and  taken 
back  to  Paris.  There  he  was  thrust  into  the  Bicetre,  — 
one  of  the  lowest  prisons. 

At  the  Bic£tre  he  was  treated  as  a  miscreant  and  common 
malefactor,  and  was  associated  with  wretches  chained,  like 
himself,  in  stalls  along  a  gallery,  "  as  horses  are  chained  in 
a  stable."  Latude  was  now  fifty-three  years  old,  and  nearly 
one  half  of  his  life  had  been  passed  in  prisons.  In  the 
Bicetre  all  Latude's  resources  failed  him.  His  friends, 
misled  by  the  representations  of  the  police,  imagined  he 
had  been  guilty  of  some  ignominious  crime,  and  seem  to 
have  abandoned  him.  He  was  herded  with  the  lowest  of 
his  kind,  and  descended  from  his  place  as  a  gentleman. 
In  vain  he  protested  his  innocence,  and  implored  a  trial. 
From  that  time  (1777)  for  upwards  of  six  years,  his  auto- 
biography, now  a  very  scarce  book,  is  a  monotony  of  misery. 
His  heart  had  even  turned  against  the  rats.  "  Those  ac- 
cursed beasts,"  he  calls,  in  the  Bicetre,  the  animals  who  in 
the  Bastille  twenty  years  before  had  been  his  friends.  He 
lost  even  his  name,  and  was  known  as  Father  Jedor.  He 
was  covered  with  scorbutic  sores,  and  sent  to  a  hospital,  a 
place  still  more  loathsome  than  the  prison. 

At  last  he  was  removed  to  a  more  comfortable  apartment, 
an  alleviation  he  soon  forfeited  by  trying  to  interest  a  visitor 
(the  Princesse  de  Beaulieu)  in  his  favor. 

About  this  time  M.  Necker  was  called  to  be  the  king's 
prime  minister,  and  Madame  Necker  made  a  visit  of  inspec- 
tion to  the  prisons.  Her  account  of  what  she  saw  caused 
an  eminent  man,  the  President  de  Gourgue,  to  visit  the 
prisoners.  These  men,  dregs  of  rascality  though  they  were, 
all  seem  to  have  felt  compassion  for  Latude.  They  directed 
M.  de  Gourgue  to  his  cell,  and  even  one  of  the  guards 
rejoiced  to  see  the  visitor  shedding  tears  over  its  inhabitant. 

"  The  worst  part  of  your  case,"  said  De  Gourgue,  "  is  that 
you  are  confined  under  a  lettre  de  cachet.  Send  me  a  me- 
morial of  your  sufferings,  and  trust  to  my  good  offices." 

For  nine  days  Latude  sold  his  pittance  of  black  bread  to 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LA  TUDE.       99 

procure  writing-paper.  When  his  memorial  was  finished, 
with  his  last  shirt  and  a  pair  of  silk  stockings,  he  bribed  a 
prison  underling  to  convey  it  to  his  protector.  The  man 
was  drunk,  and  dropped  it  in  the  street. 

Happily  for  Latude,  it  was  picked  up  by  a  woman  who 
became  his  friend  and  guardian  angel.  The  envelope  was 
wet  and  stained.  The  seal  was  broken.  The  signature 
was,  "  Masers  de  Latude,  a  prisoner  during  thirty-two  years 
at  the  Bastille,  at  Vincennes,  and  at  the  Bicetre,  where  he 
is  confined  on  bread  and  water  in  a  dungeon  underground." 

Having  read  the  record  of  his  sufferings,  this  good  woman, 
Madame  Legros,  resolved  to  effect  the  liberation  of  Latude. 
She  copied  the  paper  before  she  sent  it  to  its  destination. 
Her  husband  was  a  private  teacher,  and  she  kept  a  little 
thread-and-needle  store.  They  had  no  personal  influence, 
and  their  resources  were  very  limited.  On  M.  Legros' 
delivering  the  package  with  his  own  hands  to  M.  de 
Gourgue,  that  gentleman  told  him  that  he  had  been  greatly 
affected  by  the  writer's  story,  and  had  taken  steps  on  his 
behalf,  but  had  been  informed  that  for  thirty-two  years  he 
had  been  a  confirmed  lunatic,  whose  confinement  was 
necessary  for  his  own  and  others'  safety. 

Still  M.  and  Madame  Legros  would  not  give  up  the  cause 
of  their  protege.  Madame  Legros  sought  out  the  chaplain  of 
the  Bicetre,  and  obtained  from  him  a  certificate  of  the 
prisoner's  sanity.  She  also  went  to  the  prison,  where  she 
saw  the  prisoners  who  were  not  au  secret,  and  learned  that 
the  object  of  her  interest  was  known  amongst  them  as 
Father  Jedor. 

With  three  louis,  a  great  sum  for  her,  she  bribed  one  of 
the  turnkeys  to  deliver  to  Latude  a  letter  and  a  louis  d'or. 
This  was  the  first  he  had  heard  of  his  benefactress.  He 
replied  by  imploring  her  to  give  up  his  cause  rather  than 
run  any  risk  on  his  account. 

Both  husband  and  wife,  having  made  several  copies  of  the 
memorial,  approached  various  influential  persons  in  Latude's 
behalf.  M.  Lenoir  said  that  Latude  was  not  in  the  Bicetre, 
but  was  a  confirmed  lunatic  at  Charenton.  He  added  that 


100  THE   FRENCH  REVOLUTION-. 

he  was  accused  of  no  crime,  but  his  release  would  be  dan- 
gerous to  society.  Afterwards  he  shifted  his  ground,  and 
declared  that,  since  Latude  was  imprisoned  by  the  express 
orders  of  the  king,  he  should  not  be  justified  in  disputing 
the  commands  of  his  Majesty. 

This  announcement  alarmed  all  those  whom  Madame 
Legros  had  already  interested  in  Latude's  favor.  She,  how- 
ever, would  not  relax  her  efforts,  and  addressed  herself  to 
upwards  of  two  hundred  persons  with  varying  success. 

Next  Madame  Legros  obtained  an  interview  with  Latude. 
She  saw  him  for  a  few  moments  as  he  was  conducted  through 
the  courtyard  to  receive  a  visit  from  a  former  chaplain  of 
the  Bicetre,  and  she  was  permitted  by  the  humanity  of  his 
guards  to  exchange  a  few  brief  sentences  with  him. 

The  first  dauphin  was  born  Oct.  22,  1781  ;  and  Latude, 
in  common  with  other  political  prisoners,  hoped  for  deliver- 
ance. He  appealed,  in  presence  of  the  king's  commissioners 
of  pardon  appointed  to  examine  the  prisoners  of  the  Bicetre, 
to  M.  Tristan,  the  governor,  as  to  his  behavior  during  the 
four  years  he  had  been  in  his  custody.  M.  Tristan  con- 
fessed that  he  had  never  given  him  cause  of  complaint. 

The  Cardinal  de  Rohan,  who  was  present,  seemed  much 
affected  by  his  story,  and  spoke  to  the  king  upon  the  subject ; 
but  Louis,  irritated  by  the  result  of  his  former  interference, 
declined  to  reopen  the  matter.  Meantime  the  cardinal  was 
beset  by  Madame  Legros,  and  at  last  referred  her  to  M. 
de  Saint-Prest,  one  of  the  king's  ministers.  Saint- Prest 
described  her  protege  as  a  common  thief  and  an  abandoned 
criminal ;  and  though  she  complained  of  this  outrage  to  the 
cardinal,  the  affair  of  the  diamond  necklace  was  approach- 
ing a  crisis,  and  that  poor  gentleman  needed  all  his  court 
influence  to  keep  himself  out  of  the  Bastille. 

Next  Madame  Legros  applied  to  a  celebrated  lawyer,  the 
advocate  De  la  Croix.  He  was  barred  from  carrying  the 
case  before  any  tribunal  by  the  law  forbidding  lawyers  to 
defend  any  prisoner  confined  by  lettre  de  cachet,  but  he 
took  up  the  case  warmly,  and  interested  a  certain  Madame 
D.  (could  it  have  been  De  Stael?),  wife  and  daughter  of  a 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LATUDE.     IOI 

minister.  This  lady  became  as  much  interested  in  Madame 
Legros  as  in  the  prisoner;  but  taking  advantage  of  her 
position,  she  came  to  the  Bicetre,  and  there  heard  from 
Latude's  own  lips  his  miserable  story. 

Not  long  after  this  he  had  an  interview  with  Lenoir,  who 
could  find  no  better  evidence  of  his  madness  than  that 
a  man  must  have  been  mad  to  have  attempted  an  escape 
from  the  Bastille. 

Next  De  la  Croix  interviewed  De  Sartine  and  drove  him 
to  exposing  the  real  cause  of  Latude's  detention.  "  If  this 
man  should  obtain  his  liberty,  he  will  take  refuge  in  foreign 
countries,  and  write  against  me." 

M.  de  la  Croix  suggested  that  if  he  were  released  there 
were  persons  willing  to  be  held  responsible  for  his  good 
behavior.  This  remark,  after  six  more  months  of  delays, 
deceptions,  and  disappointments,  facilitated  the  desired  end. 
The  result  was  finally  due  to  the  exertions  of  Madame 
Necker,  who  refused  to  divulge  to  any  one  how  the  order 
for  Latude's  release  was  obtained. 

In  sending  the  good  news  to  Madame  Legros,  Madame 
Necker  wrote  as  follows  :  — 

"  The  individual  through  whose  powerful  influence  I  have  so 
long  and  ardently  endeavored  to  attain  the  object  of  our 
mutual  solicitude  is  in  some  measure  apprehensive  of  the 
consequences.  We  fear  lest  the  future  conduct  of  our  protege, 
excited  by  the  remembrance  of  his  wrongs,  should  lead  him 
into  actions  which  might  cause  us  to  repent.  I  rely  on  your 
prudence  and  management  in  a  matter  which  really  includes  the 
happiness  of  my  life,  for,  from  reasons  exclusively  personal, 
I  should  suffer  cruelly  if  M.  de  Latude  were  to  excite  any  just 
cause  of  complaint  against  him  after  the  steps  I  have  taken 
in  his  favor  and  the  responsibility  I  have  incurred.  Since  you 
have  judged  it  proper  to  acquaint  him  with  my  name,  and 
he  has  expressed  himself  fully  sensible  of  the  interest  I  have 
evinced,  I  entreat  you  to  require  from  him,  as  the  only  token 
of  his  gratitude  I  shall  ever  have  occasion  to  exact,  his  full  and 
unqualified  forgiveness  of  the  many  injuries  he  has  sustained, 
and  a  profound  silence  on  the  subject  of  his  enemies.  This 
is  the  only  course  by  which,  he  can  expect  happiness,  and  it  is 


102  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

absolutely  essential  to  my  tranquillity  that  he  should  adopt  it. 
I  leave  this  important  matter  entirely  in  your  hands,  madame, 
in  the  fullest  confidence,  and  relying  on  the  sentiments  of  esteem 
and  attachment  with  which  you  have  inspired  me." 


But  the  pardon  was  accompanied  with  a  most  distasteful 
condition  :  Latude  was  to  be  exiled  to  Montagnac,  there 
to  reside  under  the  surveillance  of  the  police.  Madame 
Legros  earnestly  represented  that,  if  separated  from  herself 
and  her  husband  by  a  distance  of  two  hundred  leagues, 
they  could  not  possibly  watch  over  him  as  they  had  pledged 
themselves  to  do,  "  and  prevent  the  ebullitions  of  temper  or 
the  natural  dictates  of  long-suppressed  indignation." 

At  last  she  obtained  the  necessary  papers  permitting 
Latude  to  reside  in  Paris,  on  condition  of  never  appearing 
in  the  coffee-houses,  or  on  the  public  walks,  or  in  any  place 
of  public  amusement. 

March  22,  1784,  Latude  quitted  his  prison.  He  accom- 
panied his  good  friends  to  their  humble  dwelling,  where 
a  chamber  had  been  prepared  for  him.  He  gazed  around 
him  with  the  rapture  of  a  child,  and  the  ordinary  comforts 
of  life  seemed  luxuries  beyond  his  imagination. 

Soon  came  the  kind  anonymous  lady  who  had  assisted 
Madame  Necker.  On  quitting  Latude  she  left  him  a  purse 
of  gold  and  a  letter.  The  latter  was  full  of  kindness  and 
good  sense,  and  reiterated  the  wise  counsels  before  given 
him. 

By  degrees  a  small  income  was  secured  by  private  sub- 
scription to  enable  Madame  Legros  and  her  husband  to 
support  themselves  and  the  new  member  of  their  household. 
It  amounted  to  about  four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  The 
Monthyon  prize  for  1784  (that  is,  the  prize  given  to  the 
poor  French  person  who  in  the  course  of  the  year  has 
performed  the  most  virtuous  action)  was  unanimously 
awarded  by  the  Academy  to  Madame  Legros,  but  her 
receiving  it  was  opposed  by  the  king's  ministers. 

At  the  taking  of  the  Bastille  in  1789,  Latude  was  in  Paris. 
He  does  not  seem  to  have  been  among  the  attacking  party, 


MADAME  NECKER. 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LATUDE.     103 

but  the  next  day  he  was  carried  over  the  castle  in  triumph, 
and  encouraged  to  take  possession  of  the  relics  of  his  escape 
and  the  papers  relating  to  his  captivity. 

In  1 790  he  published  his  autobiography,  and  in  the  year 
following  brought  suit  for  damages  against  the  heirs  of 
Madame  de  Pompadour.  He  succeeded  in  obtaining  a 
verdict,  but  probably  did  not  reap  much  benefit  from  his 
success,  as  he  died  a  poor  man  in  1805,  at  the  advanced 
age  of  eighty-two,  after  having  gone  through  tortures  and 
privations  enough,  one  would  think,  to  have  prematurely 
destroyed  a  frame  of  iron. 

As  we  know,  the  Revolution  began  in  May,  1 789,  with  the 
meeting  of  the  States-General.  In  this  body  the  Commons, 
soon  becoming  supreme,  formed  what  is  called  in  history 
the  Constituent  Assembly;  that  is,  an  assembly  to  make 
a  constitution.  While  these  things  went  on  at  Versailles, 
Paris  was  in  a  ferment,  and  the  ferment  was  spreading 
to  provincial  towns.  On  Sunday,  July  12,  excitement  was 
rising  to  fever  heat.  Some  of  the  agitators  were  arrested 
and  imprisoned,  but  to  imprison  one  was  to  raise  up  others. 
The  Palais  Royal,  with  its  gardens  and  arcades  under  the 
very  windows  of  the  Due  d'Orleans,  rang  with  inflammatory 
oratory.  "  To  arms  ! "  was  the  cry  But  the  populace  had 
no  arms.  Arms  were  even  wanting  to  the  National  Guard. 
The  mob  broke  open  prisons ;  they  broke  open  the  arsenal ; 
they  plundered  the  King's  Garde  Meuble,  —  the  depository 
of  curious  things  belonging  to  the  crown.  In  it  they  found 
two  little  silver-mounted  cannon,  a  present  to  Louis  XIV. 
from  the  King  of  Siam.  A  rumor  rose  that  arms  were 
concealed  at  the  Invalides,  and  thither  the  mob  marched 
on  Monday,  July  13,  at  five  in  the  morning.  Old  M.  de 
Sombreuil,  governor  of  the  Invalides,  had  had  twenty  men 
at  work  all  night  unscrewing  the  locks  of  the  muskets  in  his 
care,  amounting  to  twenty-eight  thousand.  But  in  six  hours 
they  had  only  unscrewed  twenty  locks,  their  sympathies 
being  with  the  populace.  The  mob  broke  in  and  seized 
the  muskets,  and  then  from  twenty-eight  thousand  armed 
men  the  cry  arose,  "  To  the  Bastille  !  "  One  rather  won- 


IO4  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

ders  why  the  Bastille  was  the  object  of  attack ;  no  men 
of  obscure  birth  were  commonly  imprisoned  there.  It  was 
garrisoned  only  by  eighty-two  old  Invalides  and  thirty-two 
young  Swiss  soldiers.  However,  it  had  cannon  and  ammuni- 
tion ;  its  guns  could  fire  upon  Paris,  and  it  was  a  sort  of 
landmark  of  the  Old  Regime.  Its  destruction  would  be 
an  object  lesson  to  tyranny. 

Old  M.  de  Launay,  its  governor,  had  made  what  prepara- 
tions he  could,  but  he  had  only  one  day's  provisions.  His 
walls  were  nine  feet  thick ;  he  had  a  moat  and  two  draw- 
bridges. He  had  also  had  missiles  of  all  kinds  piled  on  the 
battlements,  paving-stones,  old  iron,  etc.,  and  cannon  in  every 
embrasure.  Above  all,  he  had  a  powder  magazine,  and 
professed  his  intention  of  blowing  up  the  place,  the  garrison, 
and  himself  rather  than  surrender.  But  what  were  a  hun- 
dred and  thirty-four  men  against  a  hundred  thousand? 

The  Invalides  fired  a  cannon,  and  killed  some  of  the 
crowd.  Then  the  rage  of  the  assailants  rose  to  fury.  The 
King  of  Siam's  cannon  were  impotent  to  reply,  but  the  fire 
brigade  was  called  out,  and  attempted  to  squirt  water  into 
the  touch-holes  of  the  cannon.  The  first  gun  had  been  fired 
at  i  P.M.  ;  the  garrison  fought  on  till  five.  The  Invalides, 
shot  down  whenever  they  showed  themselves,  grew  disheart- 
ened. They  reversed  their  muskets.  They  pinned  some 
napkins  together,  and  showed  a  white  flag ;  while  the  Swiss 
put  out  a  paper  with  an  offer  to  surrender,  their  terms 
being,  —  Pardon  to  all. 

Some  attempt  was  made  to  march  the  garrison  as  prisoners 
to  the  Hotel  de  Ville  ;  but  M.  de  Launay  was  torn  in  pieces 
before  he  could  be  got  there,  and  his  queue  was  borne  aloft 
as  a  trophy,  the  sole  remnant  of  his  massacre.  The  Gardes 
Franqaises,  however,  trained  soldiers,  interfered,  and,  with  a 
few  exceptions,  saved  the  lives  of  the  rest.  The  Bastille  was 
levelled  to  the  ground.  A  column  to  Liberty  now  stands 
where  it  once  stood.  "  Its  secrets  came  to  view,"  says  Car- 
lyle,  "  and  many  a  buried  despair  at  last  found  voice.  Read 
this  fragment  of  an  old  letter  :  '  If  for  my  consolation  Mon- 
seigneur  would  grant  me,  for  the  sake  of  God  and  the  most 


IMPRISONMENTS  AND  ESCAPES  OF  LA  TUDE.     105 

Blessed  Trinity,  that  I  could  have  news  of  my  dear  wife,  were 
it  only  her  name  on  a  card  to  show  that  she  is  alive,  it  would 
be  the  greatest  consolation  I  could  receive,  and  I  should  ever 
bless  the  goodness  of  Monseigneur.'  —  Poor  prisoner,  who 
namest  thyself  Quinet-Demay,  and  hast  no  other  history  ! 
It  was  fifty  years  before  the  fall  of  the  Bastille  that  thine 
aching  heart  put  these  words  on  paper,  to  be  at  length  heard 
and  long  heard  in  the  hearts  of  men !  " 

In  the  Bastille  at  the  time  of  its  capture  there  were  found 
seventeen  prisoners.  The  list,  obtained  by  a  foreigner  who 
was  present,  is  preserved  in  the  Imperial  Library  of  St. 
Petersburg. 

Twelve  of  these  persons  were  counterfeiters  and  forgers, 
among  whom  was  one  officer  of  rank,  Jacques  Luc  Pillotte 
de  la  Baroliere. 

The  remaining  five  were :  — 

JACQUES  DE  LA  DOUAI,  a  spy  of  M.  Lenoir,  employed  to 
report  on  men  of  letters.  He  had  entered  into  an  agreement 
with  a  foreign  bookseller  to  import  interdicted  books  on  joint 
account.  An  accomplice  betrayed  him. 

HENRIETTE  SANDO,  arrested  under  the  false  name  of 
Comtesse  de  St.  Anselme.  A  dressmaker,  imprisoned  for 
bringing  into  France  a  proscribed  pamphlet. 

ANNE  GEDE"ON  DE  LAFITTE  MARQUIS  DE  PELLEPORT,  author 
of  many  pamphlets  obnoxious  to  the  government.  He  ex- 
erted himself  to  save  the  life  of  M.  de  Launay  after  the 
taking  of  the  Bastille. 

JEAN  JACQUES  RAINVILLE,  arrested  for  being  the  owner  of 
'  a  package  of  books  entitled,  Au  redacteur  du  petit  Almanack 
des  grands  hommes. 

DE  WHIT,  arrested  in  1782.  No  one  ever  knew  who  he 
was,  nor  what  he  was  imprisoned  for.  He  had  been  at  first 
confined  at  Vincennes  with  the  Marquis  de  Sada,  who  was 
subsequently  sent  to  Charenton.  De  Whit  had  lost  his 
reason,  and  could  give  no  account  of  himself.  Some 
thought  him  a  Comte  de  Lorges.  He  was  consigned  to 
Charenton. 


106  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

The  key  of  the  Bastille  was  forwarded  by  Lafayette  to 
General  Washington.  It  now  hangs  in  a  glass  case  in  the 
hall  at  Mount  Vernon. 

The  Bicetre  continued  to  be  a  prison  until  after  the  mas- 
sacres of  September,  1 793.  It  was  then  besieged  by  a  fero- 
cious mob.  The  prisoners  were  all  liberated  and  fought  side 
by  side  with  their  jailers,  though  they  had  no  arms  but  iron 
bars  torn  from  their  windows,  and  their  broken  fetters.  At 
last  they  were  overpowered  by  numbers,  and  then  com- 
menced a  general  massacre.  In  vain  Petion  exerted  himself 
to  stop  the  carnage.  When  all  was  over  it  was  said  that 
six  thousand  dead  bodies  lay  within  the  precincts  of  the 
prison.  There  were  no  political  prisoners  in  the  Bicetre 
at  that  period,  and  nothing  but  a  thirst  for  blood  could 
have  prompted  the  massacre. 

Vincennes  is  still  used  as  a  military  prison. 


CHAPTER  II. 
A  PEASANT'S  VIEW  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.1 

ANY  persons  have  taken  upon  themselves  to  write  the 
history  of  the  great  Revolution  made  by  the  laboring 
classes  and  the  bourgeoisie  against  the  nobles  in  1789.  These 
writers  have  been  men  of  education,  men  of  talent,  who 
looked  on  things  from  a  point  of  view  that  was  not  that  of 
the  people.  I  am  an  old  peasant  myself,  and  I  shall  speak 
only  of  what  concerned  the  peasantry.  A  man's  chief  busi- 
ness is  to  look  after  what  concerns  himself.  What  a  man  has 
seen  with  his  own  eyes  he  knows  about.  He  may  as  well 
turn  it  to  others'  advantage. 

You  must  know,  then,  that  before  the  Revolution  the  lord- 
ship and  jurisdiction  of  Phalsbourg  in  Lorraine,  in  which  I 
lived,  contained  five  villages.  Two  of  these  were  free  villages  ; 
but  the  inhabitants  of  the  other  three  —  men  and  women  — 
were  serfs,  and  could  not  leave  the  limits  of  their  seigneurie 
without  their  magistrate's  permission. 

This  magistrate  —  the  prevot  —  administered  justice  in 
Phalsbourg  in  a  sort  of  public  building ;  he  had  jurisdiction 
over  all  persons  and  their  property ;  he  bore  the  sword  of 
justice  ;  and  he  had  even  the  right  to  hang  any  man  whom 
he  thought  proper.  The  building  where  our  maire  now  has 
his  office,  and  where  the  National  Guard  now  has  its  head- 

1  From  Messrs.  Erckmann  and  Chatrian's  Memoires  d'un  Paysan, 
which  I  think  has  never  been  translated.  The  authors  took  their  nar- 
ratives from  the  lips  of  peasants;  and  their  books,  though  in  the 
form  of  fiction,  may  always  be  relied  upon  as  history.  Pere  Michel, 
the  Paysan,  was  a  native  of  Lorraine,  the  most  oppressed  province 
in  France.  As  is  always  the  case  in  rural  revolutions,  the  primary 
grievances  of  the  peasants  were  against  the  landowner,  the  tax- 
gatherer,  and  the  money-lender. 


108  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

quarters,  was  in  my  young  days  the  place  where  they  used  to 
put  prisoners  to  the  torture  when  they  would  not  confess 
their  crimes.  The  prevdfs  orderly  and  the  executioner  used 
to  put  them  to  such  horrible  pain  that  we  could  hear  their 
screams  in  the  market-place ;  and  the  next  thing  that  hap- 
pened was  that  a  scaffold  was  erected  on  a  market  day  under 
the  great  elms,  and  the  executioner  would  hang  them,  holding 
them  down  by  putting  his  two  feet  upon  their  shoulders.' 

At  Phalsbourg  there  was  what  was  called  the  haut  pas- 
sage; which  meant  that  every  wagon-load  of  manufactured 
goods,  whether  linen,  woollen,  or  anything  else,  paid  a  tax 
at  the  barrier  on  entering  the  jurisdiction.  So  did  every 
wagon-load  of  lumber,  or  wood  not  in  the  rough,  and  every 
wagon  loaded  with  expensive  luxuries,  velvets,  silks,  or  fine 
linen.  A  pack-horse  paid  twelve  francs ;  a  basket  on  a 
pedler's  arm  paid  three  francs ;  a  fish-cart,  or  a  cart  with 
farm  produce, —  butter,  eggs,  cheese,  etc., —  paid  its  tax ;  and 
salt,  wheat,  barley,  iron,  all  had  to  pay,  too.  A  cow,  an  ox, 
a  calf,  a  pig,  or  a  sheep  had  to  pay,  sometimes  very  heavily  ; 
so  that  the  inhabitants  of  Phalsbourg  and  its  surrounding 
villages  could  neither  eat,  drink,  nor  clothe  themselves  with- 
out paying  a  round  sum  in  taxes  to  the  Duke  of  Lorraine. 

Besides  this  there  was  the  gabelle,  or  salt  tax,  and  a  law 
which  obliged  all  householders,  lodging-house  keepers,  or 
tavern-keepers  to  pay  to  his  Highness  six  pots  of  wine  or 
beer  for  every  cask  of  those  liquors  that  they  sold.  The 
duke  likewise  had  his  right  to  a  percentage  upon  every  sale 
of  landed  property ;  and  all  grain  sold  in  the  market-place 
paid  an  additional  tax  to  him. 

There  were  municipal  taxes  levied  upon  every  booth 
erected  at  the  three  fairs  held  yearly  in  Phalsbourg ;  and 
his  Highness  had  the  right  to  pasture  his  sheep  and  cattle 
wherever  he  pleased.  He  could  cut  wood  in  any  man's 
wood-land,  and  claimed  a  share  in  all  the  gains  of  the  fullers 
and  the  weavers. 

Of  the  great  tithes,  two  thirds  went  to  the  duke,  and  one 
only  to  the  clergy.  The  tithe  on  wheat  belonged  only  to  the 
Church ;  but  his  Highness  contrived  mostly  to  get  hold  of  it, 


A  PEASANT'S  VIEW  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.     1 09 

because  he  cared  more  for  his  own  pocket  than  he  did  for 
religion. 

The  town  of  Phalsbourg  in  my  boyhood  was  little  like 
what  you  may  see  to-day.  Not  a  house  in  it  was  painted  ; 
all  had  very  small  doors  and  windows  set  deep  in  the 
masonry,  so  that  the  rooms  where  our  tailors  and  weavers 
carried  on  their  work  were  always  in  semi-darkness. 

The  soldiers  of  the  garrison,  with  their  big  cocked  hats 
and  their  frayed  white  greatcoats  down  to  their  heels,  were 
about  the  poorest  of  us  all.  They  were  furnished  but  one 
meal  a  day  by  the  government.  The  innkeepers  and  keep- 
ers of  cook-shops  who  had  to  supply  their  other  food  used 
to  beg  scraps  from  door  to  door  for  the  poor  devils.  This 
continued  until  within  a  few  years  of  the  Revolution. 

Our  women  were  worn  and  haggard.  A  gown  passed 
down  from  grandmother  to  granddaughter,  and  men  wore 
the  sabots  of  their  fathers'  fathers. 

There  were  no  pavements  in  the  streets  of  Phalsbourg, 
no  street-lamps  in  the  darkness.  The  window-panes  were 
very  small ;  many  had  been  stuffed  with  rags  and  paper  for 
twenty  years. 

Through  all  the  poverty  in  our  streets  the  prfadt  would 
stalk  in  his  black  cap,  and  mount  the  steps  up  to  the  mairie ; 
young  officers  (all  noble,  for  no  man  could  be  an  officer  in 
those  days  without  his  quarterings)  would  lounge  about  in 
little  three-cornered  hats  and  white  uniforms,  with  thetf  swords 
at  their  sides  ;  Capuchin  friars  would  pass  through  our  streets 
with  dirty  long  beards,  serge  robes,  no  shirts,  and  red  noses, 
going  —  troops  of  them  —  up  to  their  convent,  turned  into 
the  town  schoolhouse  at  the  present  day.  ...  I  see  it  all  in 
my  mind's  eye  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday ;  and  I  say  to  my- 
self, "  What  a  blessing  for  all  of  us  that  the  Revolution  ever 
took  place,  —  but  most  of  all  has  it  been  a  blessing  to  the 
peasantry  ! " 

For  if  poverty  was  great  in  the  city,  it  was  worse  than  you 
can  imagine  in  the  country.  In  the  first  place,  all  the  dues 
and  taxes  paid  by  the  burgher  were  paid  by  the  peasant  as 
well ;  and  the  peasants  had  other  exactions  to  suffer  besides. 


1 1 0  THE  FRENCH  RE  VOL  UTION. 

In  every  village  of  Lorraine,  either  the  seigneur  or  the  monks 
owned  a  farm.  All  the  best  land  was  included  in  these 
farms ;  poor  people  had  nothing  to  cultivate  but  indifferent 
soil.  Nor  could  they  even  plant  on  their  own  land  what 
they  pleased.  Meadows  had  to  remain  meadows ;  ploughed 
lands  must  be  ploughed  over  again.  If  the  peasant  had 
been  allowed  to  put  his  wheat-field  down  in  grass,  the  clergy 
would  have  lost  their  tithe  of  grain  ;  if  he  had  turned  his 
pasture  lot  into  a  field  of  wheat,  he  would  have  diminished 
the  seigneur's  right  of  pasturage.  His  land  was  under  the 
obligation  of  supporting  fruit  trees  which  belonged  to  the 
convent  or  the  seigneur,  who  sold  the  fruit  every  year. 
The  farmer  had  no  right  to  cut  down  these  trees,  and  if 
they  died  he  was  expected  to  plant  others  in  their  stead. 
The  shade  they  made,  the  trampling  of  the  crops  when  the 
fruit  was  gathered,  the  impediments  they  put  in  the  way  of 
ploughing,  were  all  very  hurtful  to  the  small  proprietor. 

Then,  too,  the  nobles  had  the  right  to  hunt  over  the  lands 
of  their  peasantry,  to  gallop  over  the  peasant's  crops,  to 
ravage  his  fields  ;  and  the  peasant  who  killed  one  partridge 
or  one  hare  even,  on  his  own  land,  was  in  danger  of  the 
galleys. 

The  seigneur  and  the  monastery  had  also  special  rights  of 
pasturage  ;  that  is  to  say,  their  flocks  might  go  out  to  graze 
on  waste  lands  an  hour  earlier  than  those  of  the  people  in 
the  village.  The  cows  and  sheep  of  the  peasants,  therefore, 
only  got  their  leavings. 

Again,  the  farm  of  the  seigneur  or  the  monastery  had  the 
right  to  maintain  pigeons.  These  pigeons  flocked  over  the 
fields.  The  peasant  had  to  sow  twice  as  much  seed  as  he 
need  otherwise  have  done,  if  he  hoped  for  any  harvest. 

Furthermore,  every  head  of  a  family  had  to  pay  his  lord 
every  year  fifteen  measures  of  oats,  ten  fowls,  and  twenty- 
four  eggs.  He  also  owed  him  three  days'  labor  for  himself, 
three  for  each  of  his  sons,  three  for  each  laborer  he  hired, 
and  three  for  each  horse  or  cart.  He  was  bound  to  mow 
for  him  his  grounds  around  the  chateau,  to  make  his  hay 
and  carry  it  to  the  barn  at  the  first  stroke  of  the  great 


A  PEASANTS  VIEW  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.     Ill 

chateau  bell,  or  else  he  had  to  pay  three  sous  fine  for  each 
time  he  failed  in  doing  so.  He  was  bound  to  haul  all  stones 
or  wood  needed  to  keep  the  chateau  in  repair.  The  lord 
was  expected  to  give  him  only  a  meal  of  bread  and  garlic 
each  day  he  worked  for  him. 

This  is  what  is  meant  by  la  corvee,  —  a  word  that  has  now 
passed  into  the  French  language  to  express  what  is  intoler- 
able labor. 

If  I  were  to  go  on  to  tell  you  how  the  seigneur  had  his 
oven,  where  all  bread  had  to  be  baked,  and  his  press,  where 
all  his  peasants  had  to  make  their  wine,  and  pay  him  for  the 
use  of  them  ;  if  I  were  further  to  tell  you  how  the  execu- 
tioner had  a  right  to  the  hide  of  every  beast  that  died  of 
itself ;  and  were  I  to  describe  all  the  troubles  and  exactions 
attendant  on  the  collection  of  these  rights,  and  the  tithes, 
and  so  forth  and  so  on,  I  should  never  have  done.  There 
was  a  poll  tax  besides,  and  a  tax  on  furniture. 

After  Lorraine  was  united  to  France,  the  king  claimed 
the  twelfth  part  of  all  produce  for  the  expenses  of  his  gov- 
ernment ;  but  he  claimed  it  from  the  lands  of  the  peasants 
alone,  —  the  lands  of  the  nobles  and  the  clergy  paid  no 
taxes.  Then  the  monopoly  of  salt  and  of  tobacco  was  in  the 
hands  of  "  farmers,"  and  the  price  was  made  excessive  to 
the  people  ;  and  there  was  the  gabe/le,  or  the  salt  tax,  which 
was  peculiarly  oppressive. 

All  this  might  have  been  endured  had  the  seigneurs  and 
the  abbes  and  the  priors  spent  any  of  the  money  they 
received  from  us  in  cutting  canals,  draining  the  marshes, 
improving  the  roads,  building  schoolhouses,  or  doing  any- 
thing else  for  the  public  good.  But  when  we  saw  such  a  man 
as  the  Cardinal  Prince  Louis  de  Rohan,  a  high  dignitary  of 
the  Church,  leading  the  life  he  did  at  Saverne,  making  a 
mock  of  honest  men,  allowing  his  lackeys  to  beat  poor  people 
on  the  highway  to  make  them  get  out  of  the  way  of  his  car- 
riage ;  or  when  we  saw  the  noble  gardens,  the  vast  pleasure- 
grounds,  the  statues,  and  the  fountains,  created  by  our  nobles 
at  their  country  seats,  in  imitation  of  Versailles,  it  seemed 
enough  to  break  our  hearts,  for  all  the  wealth  expended  on 


ii2  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION: 

such  luxuries  came  from  our  toil,  and  the  whole  system  was 
supported  by  the  military  service  of  peasants'  sons. 

When  these  men  once  enlisted  in  a  regiment,  they  forgot 
the  sorrows  of  their  village.  They  forgot  their  own  mothers 
and  sisters ;  they  recognized  no  ties  but  those  that  bound 
them  to  their  officers,  —  nobles  who  had  bought  them,  and 
at  whose  orders  they  would  have  massacred  every  living  soul 
in  their  own  village,  saying  that  it  was  for  the  honor  of  the 
flag,  — pour  Fhonneur  du  drapeau.  And  yet  not  one  of  these 
men  could  ever  rise  from  the  ranks  and  become  an  officer ! 
The  born  serf  could  never  wear  an  epaulette.  When  a  man 
lost  a  limb  in  the  service  or  was  otherwise  disabled,  all  he  got 
was  a  permit  to  go  and  beg  through  the  country.  The  smart 
ones  would  lounge  round  the  tavern  doors  and  do  their  best 
to  enlist  drunken  men,  and  so  themselves  secure  the  bounty  ; 
the  more  reckless  and  adventurous  took  to  highway  robbery. 
Gendarmes  had  to  be  sent  against  them.  Sometimes  two  or 
three  companies  were  sent.  I  saw  a  dozen  robbers  hung  on 
one  day  at  Phalsbourg  ;  nearly  all  of  them  were  old  soldiers 
licensed  to  beg  after  the  Seven  Years'  War.  They  had  lost 
the  skill  to  labor,  they  had  not  a  farthing  of  pension,  and 
were  all  arrested  and  condemned  for  robbing  a  roadside  tav- 
ern near  Saverne.  So  now  you  understand  what  was  meant 
by  the  Old  Regime.  The  nobles  and  the  convents  had  «//, 
and  the  laboring  people  had  nothing. 

Things  are  all  altered  now,  thank  Heaven  !  The  peasants 
have  their  share  of  the  good  things  of  this  world,  and  of 
course  I  too  have  my  little  portion.  Everybody  around 
here  knows  Pere  Michel's  farm,  his  beautiful  Swiss  cows  the 
color  of  cafe  an  lait,  and  his  six  yoke  of  work-oxen. 

I  have  no  right  to  complain.  The  Revolution  has  done 
much  for  me.  My  grandson  Jacques  is  in  Paris,  at  the  Ecole 
Polytechnique.  He  is  in  the  first  class  there.  My  grand- 
daughters are  well  married.  My  namesake,  my  youngest 
and  favorite  grandchild,  talks  of  being  a  doctor.  All  this  I 
owe  to  the  Revolution.  Had  I  been  a  grandfather  before 
1 789,  I  shouM  have  had  nothing.  I  should  have  labored  all 
my  life  for  the  seigneur  and  the  monastery.  As  I  sit  here  in 


A  PEAS  A  ATS  VIEW  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.     113 

my  big  armchair,  with  my  old  dog  at  my  feet,  and  glance 
out  at  my  apple-trees  covered  with  white  blossoms,  or  listen 
to  the  cheerful  sounds  from  my  own  farm-yard,  I  think  of  the 
wretched  cabin  where  my  poor  father  and  mother  lived,  and 
my  brothers  and  sisters  in  1780,  with  its  four  bare  crumbling 
walls,  its  windows  stuffed  with  straw,  its  thatch  rotted  by  rain 
and  snow,  —  a  kind  -of  black  mouldy  lair,  where  we  were  all 
stifled  in  the  smoke ;  where  we  shivered  with  cold  and  hun- 
ger. And  when  I  think  how  my  poor  parents  toiled  in- 
cessantly just  to  give  us  a  few  beans  to  keep  the  life  in  us  ; 
when  I  remember  how  ragged  we  were,  how  haggard,  and 
how  care-worn,  —  I  shudder ;  and  when  I  am  alone  tears 
come  into  my  eyes. 

No,  indeed  !  you  can't  make  me  believe  that  poor. peo- 
ple were  happy  before  the  Revolution.  I  recollect  what 
people  call  "  the  good  old  times,"  and  yet  in  those  days  old 
men  talked  to  us  of  times  a  great  deal  worse,  —  that  time  of 
the  Thirty  Years'  War,  when  peasants  were  strung  up  to  the 
trees  like  fruit ;  and  after  war  came  pestilence,  till  you  might 
travel  leagues  without  seeing  a  single  living  soul. 

Imagine  in  those  days  a  poor  laborer  like  my  father  with 
a  wife  and  six  children,  without  a  sou,  without  a  foot  of 
land,  without  a  goat,  without  a  fowl,  with  nothing  but  the 
toil  of  his  hands  on  which  to  live.  There  was  no  hope  any- 
where for  him,  or  for  his  children.  No  better  fate  than  his 
was  open  to  his  family ;  it  was  the  natural  order  of  things. 
Some  people  came  into  the  world  nobles,  and  had  a  right  to 
everything ;  others  were  born  serfs,  and  must  expect  to  re- 
main in  poverty  from  generation  to  generation. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  these  things,  when  the  spring  came,  and  the 
sun  shone  into  our  cabin  after  the  long  dark  months  ;  when  it 
showed  us  the  cobwebs  between  the  beams,  the  little  hearth 
in  the  corner,  and  the  ladder  to  the  loft ;  when  we  grew 
warm,  and  crickets  sang  without,  and  all  the  trees  grew  green, 
—  we  felt  it,  after  all,  to  be  a  pleasant  thing  to  be  alive.  We 
children  lay  on  our  backs  upon  the  grass  clasping  our  bare 
feet  in  our  little  hands  ;  we  whistled,  we  laughed,  and  looked 
up  in  the  sky,  or  tumbled  in  the  dust,  and  were  happy. 

8 


H4  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

But  the  worst  trouble  of  all  was  that  peasants,  almost  with- 
out exception,  were  in  debt  to  some  money-lender.  I  recol- 
lect, as  soon  as  I  can  remember  anything,  hearing  my  father 
say  when  he  had  sold  some  of  his  baskets,  or  a  dozen  or  two 
of  his  brooms  :  4<  Here  is  the  money  for  salt,  and  here  for 
beans  and  for  rice,  but  I  have  not  a  sou  over.  Oh,  mon 
Dieu  !  mon  Dieu  !  I  had  hoped  to  have  a  little  over  to 
go  to  Monsieur  Robin  ! " 

What  my  father  and  mother  suffered  from  this  debt  can- 
not be  described.  They  lay  awake  to  worry  over  it ;  the 
thought  of  it  never  left  them  ;  they  grew  old  under  the  bur- 
den of  it.  The  debt  had  been  contracted  to  buy  a  goat. 
The  goat  had  died.  It  had  been  paid  for  ten  times  over  in 
interest,  but  the  principal  had  never  been  repaid.  Their 
only  hope  lay  in  the  thought  that  if  one  of  their  sons  drew  a 
blank  in  the  conscription,  they  might  sell  him  for  a  substi- 
tute. People  must  indeed  have  been  poverty-stricken  be- 
fore they  could  find  hope  in  the  sale  of  their  sons.  We  boys 
thought  it  only  natural  that  our  father  and  mother  should  sell 
us.  We  always  considered  ourselves  as  belonging  to  them, 
like  cattle. 

In  those  days,  when  I  had  to  run  home  alone  on  dark 
nights  after  staying  too  long  at  my  uncle's,  where  I  was  em- 
ployed as  a  farm  boy  in  his  stable,  I  used  to  carry  with  me  a 
lighted  torch  to  scare  the  wolves ;  and  sometimes,  long 
after  I  had  crept  into  my  bed  of  leaves  in  the  loft,  beside  my 
brothers,  I  would  hear  sounds  in  the  distance,  by  which  I 
knew  that  wolves  were  howling  round  some  stable,  jumping 
up  eight  or  ten  feet  to  get  in  at  some  opening,  and  falling 
back  upon  the  snow.  Then  there  would  be  some  short,  sharp 
yelps,  and  then  the  whole  pack  would  rush  down  the  village 
street,  like  a  whirlwind.  They  had  seized  some  poor  watch- 
dog, and  were  carrying  him  off  to  the  rocks  to  tear  him  in 
pieces. 

One  afternoon  I  found  my  uncle  with  a  basket  before  him 
containing  roots  cut  into  small  pieces.  A  pedler,  who  was 
one  of  his  friends,  had  brought  them  to  him  from  beyond  the 
Rhine,  saying  that  they  came  out  of  Hanover,  that  they 


A  PEASANT'S  VIEW  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.     115 

would  produce  plants  so  good  to  eat  and  in  such  great  quan- 
tities that  our  people  would  have  plenty  of  food  all  the  year 
round.  He  recommended  us  to  plant  them,  saying  that  if 
they  came  into  use  there  would  be  no  more  famine  in  the 
land,  and  that  they  would  be  a  veritable  blessing  to  every 
one. 

These  were  potatoes.  There  was  great  opposition  to  them 
at  first  in  our  country.  They  came  from  Hanover;  they 
were  heretic  roots.  It  was  reported  that  they  produced  lep- 
rosy ;  and  for  one  season  nobody  would  buy  them  or  eat 
them.  But,  happily  for  us,  before  the  time  for  planting  them 
the  next  year,  a  gazette  reached  us  which  said  that  a  good 
fellow,  one  Parmentier,  had  planted  some  of  these  roots  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Paris,  that  he  had  sent  somdPto  the 
king,  who  had  eaten  of  them  ;  and  then  everybody  wanted  to 
plant  potatoes,  in  consequence  of  which  all  that  my  uncle  had 
on  hand  sold  very  profitably.1 

1  The  extract  I  have  given  shows  the  working  of  the  feudal  system 
in  the  days  of  its  decay.  The  French  Revolution  swept  it  utterly 
away,  not  only  in  France,  but  all  over  Europe.  We  think  so  much  of 
the  horrors  and  excesses  of  the  Revolution  run  to  riot,  cruelty,  and 
madness,  that  we  forget  what  it  seemed  to  men  in  its  early  stages, 
and  what  we  ourselves  would  have  thought  of  it  had  we  never  known 
its  sequel.  —  E.  W.  L. 


CHAPTER   III. 

PARIS    IN    1 787.! 

TN  the  month  of  May,  1787,  three  young  men  of  Nancy, 
•*•  then  the  capital  of  the  province  of  Lorraine,  set  out 
upon  a  journey.  They  were  to  visit  Paris,  and  afterwards 
descend  the  Seine  to  Havre.  Their  objects  were  to  see  the 
world  a»d  to  purchase  seeds  and  agricultural  implements ; 
for  they  belonged  to  the  middle  class,  and  had  no  social 
pretensions  or  ambitions.  They  were  frugal,  although  bent 
on  pleasure ;  and  one  of  them  wrote  a  journal,  in  which  he 
recorded  their  observations  and  their  joint  stock  of  experi- 
ences, for  the  benefit  of  their  respective  families.  Two  years 
later  (although  no  word  in  the  journal  shows  that  change  or 
trouble  was  at  hand)  all  France  was  ablaze  with  revolution. 
The  record  of  their  journey,  having  served  its  purpose,  lay 
forgotten  in  the  drawer  of  an  old  writing-desk,  until  recently 
a  descendant  of  the  writer  drew  it  from  its  hiding-place.  He 
gave  it  to  the  world  through  the  "  Literary  Supplement  of 
Figaro,"  as  an  interesting  picture  of  a  Paris  very  different 
from  the  Paris  of  the  Third  Republic  or  the  Second  Empire. 
The  style  of  the  young  man's  narrative  is  clear,  straight-for- 
ward, and  unsensational.  Its  language  differs  about  as  much 
from  the  French  of  modern  newspapers  and  novels  as  the 
Paris  it  describes  does  from  the  heaven  of  the  good  Ameri- 
can, in  the  appearance  of  its  streets  and  the  every-day  ideas 
which  shaped  its  manners. 

Our  three  young  men,  Thiry,  Jacquinot,  and  Cognet  (their 
historian)  left  Nancy  by  diligence,  May  7,  1787.  Their 
fellow-passengers  were  an  Englishman,  and  a  friar  of  the 

1  Contributed  to  "  Appleton's  Journal,"  December,  1880,  by  Mrs, 
E.  W.  Latimer. 


PARIS  IN  1787.  I  I  7 

order  of  St.  Francis.  The  friar  they  found  a  bore,  while  the 
Englishman  was  intelligent  and  amusing.  Their  first  stage 
was  to  Ligny,  which  they  reached  in  a  pouring  rain.  There 
they  supped  upon  delicate  trout,  and  went  to  bed  for  about 
three  hours.  Anxious,  however,  to  get  as  much  as  possible 
out  of  their  journey,  they  got  out  of  bed  at  3  A.  M.  to  walk 
around  the  town  of  Ligny,  where  they  found  wide  streets  and 
handsome  houses.  We  judge  that  at  that  time  ideas  of  the 
seclusion  of  women  regulated  domestic  architecture,  for  they 
note  with  surprise  that  one  of  the  principal  of  these  houses 
"had  windows  looking  on  the  street."  At  Bar,  Jacquinot 
paid  a  visit  to  the  good-looking  housekeeper  of  a  certain 
M.  Arnoud,  who  had  a  small  place  under  government,  but 
the  rule  of  the  establishment  seems  to  have  been,  "  No 
followers  allowed,"  and  the  visit  was  resented  as  an  intrusion 
by  her  master. 

At  St.  Didier,  the  next  stage  of  their  journey,  they  got 
an  excellent  dinner  for  twenty-five  sous  each.  At  Vitry  they 
changed  horses,  and  were  struck  by  the  free  and  easy 
manners  of  its  pretty  women,  some  of  whom  stood  at  their 
windows  to  watch  them  as  they  waited  beside  the  diligence  ; 
and  one  lady,  of  high  consideration,  as  they  heard,  actually 
waved  her  hand  to  them,  as  their  carriage  rolled  away. 
With  Chalons  they  were  not  well  pleased  :  their  supper  was 
dear  and  bad ;  the  women  were  ill  dressed,  and  took  no 
interest  in  travellers.  "  They  had  no  notion  how  to  put 
their  clothes  on,"  says  our  observant  traveller.  "  They 
wore  full-dress  chignons  with  morning  deshabille" 

At  Chalons  they  left  the  diligence,  and  hired  a  cabriolet. 
The  weather  was  very  bad,  and  they  were  greatly  indebted 
to  their  landlady,  who  laid  some  old  cloths  over  the  frame 
of  their  vehicle.  At  Se'zanne  they  passed  the  night  with  an 
uncle  of  Jacquinot,  who  took  them  to  see  "The  Prodigal 
Son  "  performed  by  ragged  actors  in  a  barn,  the  stage  being 
separated  only  by  coarse  curtains  from  a  stable  full  of 
horses.  • 

From  Sezanne  they  went  forward  on  foot,  hoping  for  good 
quarters  at  a  certain  abbey  on  their  route,  to  the  prior  of 


Il8  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION'. 

which  Jacquinot's  uncle  had  given  them  a  letter  of  recom- 
mendation. The  prior,  however,  by  no  means  honored  the 
draft  on  his  hospitality.  At  Meaux  they  insisted  on  supping 
on  mackerel,  the  first  salt  sea  fish  they  had  ever  tasted,  but. 
the  mackerel  having  un  leger  goi'it  de  decomposition,  Jacqui- 
not  alone  could  stomach  them. 

On  the  1 5th  of  May,  a  week  after  they  left  Nancy,  they 
found  themselves  at  8  A.  M.  before  the  gates  of  Paris.  They 
breakfasted  in  a  gitinguette,  or  canvas  booth,  and  then  sought 
a  fellow-countryman  from  Lorraine  who  had  engaged  three 
bedrooms  for  them  in  the  Rue  Montmartre,  opposite  the 
courtyard  of  the  diligence.  Their  trunk  (they  travelled 
with  light  luggage)  had  arrived  before  them ;  and  having 
changed  their  clothes  and  had  their  heads  dressed,  they 
proceeded  to  the  Palais  Royal.  "  The  beauty  of  the  build- 
ings," says  Cognet,  "  the  regularity  and  elegance  of  the 
arcades,  and  the  magnificence  of  the  shops  hardly  impressed 
us  more  than  the  vast  number  of  people  who  flocked  there 
at  midday.  It  is  the  rendezvous  of  strangers,  idlers,  and  the 
most  noted  courtesans  in  the  capital,  so  beautifully  dressed 
that  one  might  have  mistaken  them  for  court  ladies." 

At  three  o'clock  they  went  to  dine  with  a  friend  at  Hue's 
restaurant  in  the  Passage  des  Petits  Peres,  where  they  had 
excellent  entertainment  for  thirty-three  sous  apiece.  The 
dining-hall  was  large,  and  could  seat  from  sixty  to  eighty 
persons  at  small  tables.  Then  they  went  forth  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  Rue  St.  Honord,  and  to  see  for  themselves 
how  well  its  evil  reputation  was  deserved.  They  were  in- 
formed that  it  was  not  respectable  for  any  woman  in  Paris  to 
look  out  of  her  windows  on  the  street,  and  wondered  how 
their  fair  friend  at  Vitry  would  have  felt  could  she  have 
known  what  conclusion  would  be  drawn  from  her  behavior 
by  a  Parisian. 

Returning  to  the  Palais  Royal  they  went  to  the  Beaujolais, 
a  little  theatre  much  the  fashion  at  that  period,  where  chil- 
dren made  gestures  on  the  stage,  while  others  sang  behind 
the  scenes.  They  saw  three  comic  operettas  at  this  place, 
and  at  nine  o'clock  were  out  again,  and  enjoying  in  the 


PARIS  IN  1787.  119 

arcades  of  the  Palais  Royal  "  the  coup  d'ceil  offered  by  the 
brilliant  light,  not  only  from  street  lamps  hung  between  each 
arcade,  but  from  the  number  of  lamps  and  candles  in  the 
shops,  which  illuminated  the  richness  of  the  goods  displayed, 
in  contrast  with  the  dark  walks  under  the  chestnut-trees." 

The  next  day,  the  first  thing  they  saw  on  going  out,  at  ten 
A.M.,  was  a  great  crowd  of  people  in  the  Rue  Neuve  des 
Capucines,  waiting  with  impatience  for  the  drawing  of  the 
royal  lottery.  "  That  ceremony  took  place,"  says  Cognet, 
"  with  all  the  pomp  and  publicity  calculated  to  tranquillize  an 
anxious  public.  The  lieutenant-general  of  police,  whose 
rank  is  considered  equal  to  that  of  a  minister,  stood  on  a 
scaffolding  surrounded  by  a  group  of  officers.  On  the  same 
scaffolding  was  the  wheel  of  fortune,  standing  beside  which 
was  a  child  with  a  fillet  over  his  eyes.  The  wheel  turned, 
a  little  door  opened,  the  child  put  forth  his  hand,  took  up  a 
paper  lying  in  the  opening,  and  gave  it  to  the  lieutenant- 
general  of  police,  who  opened  it,  with  his  hands  held  up 
over  his  head,  before  the  crowd.  The  number,  then  pro- 
claimed aloud,  was  exhibited  on  a  frame  in  large  figures  to 
the  people.  When  all  the  numbers  were  drawn,  the  noise 
was  very  great.  The  crowd  dispersed,  most  of  them  cursing 
their  ill  luck,  but  all  ready  to  test  it  again  upon  the  next 
occasion." 

Thence  our  young  men  turned  into  the  Place  Vendome, 
one  side  of  which  was  then  occupied  by  the  church  and  con- 
vent of  the  Capuchins.  The  convent  gardens  extended  at 
that  time  to  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries,  from  which  they 
were  separated  by  a  narrow  space,  now  the  Rue  de  Rivoli. 
To  this  place  four  years  later  the  National  Assembly  removed 
when  the  court  was  forced  to  leave  Versailles  and  occupy 
the  Tuileries  ;  but  no  shadow  of  such  coming  events  hung 
over  the  minds  of  the  young  sight-seers  as  they  gazed  at  the 
equestrian  statue  of  Louis  XIV.,  then  occupying  the  centre 
of  the  square,  or  stood  inside  the  convent  church  and  won- 
dered at  the  simplicity  of  the  monument  to  Madame 
de  Pompadour. 

The  Boulevard  was  to  Paris  in  that  day  what  the  Bois  de 


1 2O  THE  FRENCH  RE  VOL  UTION. 

Boulogne  and  the  Champs  Elyse'es  are  in  ours.  This  Bou- 
levard (for  they  then  spoke  of  it  in  the  singular)  was  very 
different  from  the  Boulevards  as  we  know  them,  the  trees  that 
were  their  glory  then  having  been  nearly  all  cut  down  during 
successive  revolutions.  "  The  Boulevard,"  says  our  author- 
ity, "consists  of  two  grand  avenues  of  four  rows  of  trees 
each,  under  which  people  walk  on  foot,  while  in  the  middle 
is  a  wide  chausse'e  intended  for  carriages.  In  dry  weather 
this  road  is  watered  twice  a  day.  On/efe  days,  if  there  is 
no  public  divertissement  to  celebrate  the  occasion,  the  Bou- 
levard is  the  rendezvous  of  all  Paris.  There  are  generally 
four  lines  of  carriages  abreast  for  more  than  two  leagues. 
The  shabby  fiacre  rumbles  alongside  of  the  most  brilliant 
equipages.  Along  this  drive  are  the  handsomest  houses  in 
Paris,  and,  besides  two  theatres,  there  are  shows  and  curiosi- 
ties of  all  kinds  shown  very  cheaply  under  the  trees.  There 
are  also  three  or  four  cafe's,  beautifully  fitted  up,  where,  from 
2  P.  M.  to  n,  a  band  plays  without  intermission." 

The  opera-house  of  that  day  excited  the  admiration  of  our 
provincials.  It  had  been  built  in  seventy-five  days.  It  was 
entirely  of  wood,  and  its  builders  had  not  been  willing  to 
guarantee  it  for  more  than  five  years.  Those  years  had  passed, 
and  it  was  still  in  perfect  order.  Its  facade  was  on  the  Bou- 
levard St.  Martin.  Its  curtain  was  de  touts  beautc.  It  re- 
represented  Parnassus,  Apollo  crowning  the  Arts,  and  the 
Graces  standing  by  him.  The  perfection  of  the  scenery, 
and  the  mechanical  appliances  for  moving  it.  the  vastness  of 
the  auditorium,  and  the  brilliancy  of  the  ballet,  —  especially 
the  performance  of  the  celebrated  Mademoiselle  Guimard,  — 
delighted  our  young  men  even  more  than  the  singing. 

They  went  next  day  to  see  the  Halles,  and  were  struck  by 
the  general  activity  that  prevailed  in  them,  and  by  the  bru- 
tality and  vile  language  of  those  men  and  women  who  so 
soon  after  were  to  become  the  greatest  power  for  evil  in 
the  world. 

The  garden  of  the.Tm'leries  (or  Thuileries,  as  they  write  it) 
was  much  as  we  have  known  it  in  our  own  day,  but  the  pal- 
ace was  unoccupied  and  dilapidated.  "The  trees  are  of 


PARIS  IN  1787.  121 

prodigious  size,  and  their  branches  meet  together,  forming 
an  impenetrable  shade.  This  spot  is  the  resort  of  respect- 
able bourgeoises,  and  of  such  ladies  of  quality  as,  having  no 
carriages,  wish  to  take  the  air  without  being  elbowed  by  dis- 
reputable women.  They  are  brought  to  the  gates  in  sedan 
chairs,  which  are  left  outside  with  their  porters.  All  this  is 
'  in  excellent  taste,  and  one  feels  on  entering  the  garden  that 
it  is  the  refuge  of  virtue.  When  we  quitted  the  Tuileries, 
we  crossed  a  desert  spot  called  the  Champs  Elys6es,  and 
soon  found  ourselves  inside  the  park  of  the  celebrated  M. 
Beaujon." 

That  day  they  had  a  bad  dinner  for  thirty-six  sous  apiece, 
and  complain  that  in  fashionable  places  proprietors  and 
waiters  show  much  less  regard  to  guests  out  of  the  provinces 
than  to  seigneurs  of  the  capital.  "To  get  a  good  dinner  at 
these  places,  one  has  either  to  show  a  red  heel,  or  to  drive 
up  in  an  equipage  that  stamps  you  as  one  concerned  in  gov- 
ernment finance,  the  jingling  of  money  being  as  good  as  a 
title  to  those  who  preside  there." 

They  were  struck  by  the  activity  prevailing  on  the  quays 
on  both  sides  of  the  Seine.  These  were  crowded  with  all 
sorts  of  merchandise  and  provisions,  and  each  quay  was 
called  after  the  product  to  which  it  was  especially  devoted. 

There  was  an  Italian  opera  in  those  days  in  Paris,  but  the 
performers  sang  in  French.  The  opera-house  was  situated 
on  a  wide  open  space  surrounded  by  buildings  in  the  course 
of  construction.  They  admired  the  skill  of  the  police  in 
keeping  order  among  the  fashionable  carriages,  and  they 
there  saw  a  great  many  seigneurs  and  grandes  dames. 

The  Bois  de  Boulogne  is  described  as  a  park  nearly  a 
league  from  Paris,  used  by  the  Parisians  for  picnics  upon 
fete  days.  At  that  time  one  of  the  curiosities  of  the  Bois 
was  a  ruined  palace  called  Madrid,  built  by  Frangois  I.  on  his 
return  from  captivity.  It  had  as  many  windows  as  there  were 
days  in  the  year,  and  the  exterior  had  been  covered  with 
porcelain  tiles,  but  the  whole  was  going  to  decay.  Not  so 
the  country  house  of  the  Comte  d'Artois  in  the  same  neigh- 
borhood, whose  English  gardens,  winding  walks,  and  falling 


122  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

waters  are  admirably  described  as  imitant  peniblement  la 
nature. 

The  Jardin  Mabille  of  that  day  was  called  "  Wauxhall,"  and 
was  attended  by  our  young  men  with  but  little  edification  ; 
the  orgy,  however,  broke  up  in  time  to  send  them  to  bed  by 
eleven  o'clock. 

The  Cathedral  of  St.  Denis  was  then  in  all  its  glory. 
"  Cest  la"  exclaims  our  young  philosopher,  in  words  less 
trite  before  the  Revolution  than  they  are  to-day,  '.'  le  terme 
de  la  puissance  de  nos  rots."  The  treasure-room  contained 
reliquaries  and  chalices  of  inestimable  value.  There,  too, 
were  the  crowns  used  at  the  coronation  of  French  sovereigns, 
the  sword  of  Charlemagne  and  his  crown  and  sceptre.  But 
the  most  wonderful  thing  of  all  was  a  chalice  carved  out  of 
a  single  agate,  the  work  of  one  man's  lifetime,  which  had 
been  left  by  will  to  the  cathedral  by  the  Abb£  Sugger.  There, 
too,  they  saw  the  royal  mantle  of  purple  velvet  spangled  with 
gold  fleurs  de  Us,  and  lined  with  ermine.  It  weighed  a  hun- 
dred and  eighty  pounds.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  place 
always  to  keep  in  the  chancel,  lying  under  a  magnificent 
canopy,  the  coffin  that  contained  the  body  of  the  last  king 
during  the  reign  of  his  successor.  Louis  XV.  died  of  small- 
pox, and  his  body,  being  unfit  to  embalm,  was  buried.  A 
catafalque,  however,  covered  an  empty  coffin,  and  lights 
burned  round  it  night  and  day.  They  observed  with  satis- 
faction that  the  body  of  Turenne  "  lay  honored  among 
those  of  kings ; "  they  did  not  know  that  six  years  later, 
when  the  dead  bodies  of  the  kings  would  be  dragged  from 
their  resting-place,  his  alone  would  be  spared  that  ignominy. 

The  mania  for  building  and  decorating  country  places  was 
the  prevailing  folly  of  that  period.  Well  might  Waller's 
warning  to  Englishmen  a  century  back  have  been  applied 
to  courtiers  bred  in  the  school  of  Louis  XIV.  and  his 
successor :  — 

"If  you  have  these  whims  of  apartments  and  gardens 
Of  twice  fifty  acres,  you  '11  ne'er  see  five  farthings  ; 
And  in  you  will  be  seen  the  true  gentleman's  fate,  — 
Ere  you  've  finished  your  house  you  '11  have  spent  your  estate." 


PARIS  IN  1787.  123 

At  Neuilly  they  saw  the  flower-garden  of  M.  de  Saint- James, 
who  had  squandered  four  millions  of  francs  upon  his  country 
place.  Money  had  been  frittered  on  cockney  absurdities 
of  all  kinds.  Grottoes  had  been  lined  with  fish-bones ;  cas- 
cades had  been  shrouded  by  glass  ;  and  one  grotto  was  bril- 
liantly lighted  by  reflections  thrown  upon  yellow  glass  balls 
recalling  the  cave  with  trees  of  jewelled  fruit  entered  by 
Aladdin.  These  marvels,  and  the  really  beautiful  conser- 
vatories and  pineries,  must  have  been  destroyed  during  the 
Revolution. 

The  friends  attended  the  one  hundredth  representation  of 
Beaumarchais's  "  Figar©  "  at  the  Francais.  The  performance 
began  at  five  o'clock,  and  there  was  a  great  struggle  to  get 
in  at  the  doors.  The  theatre  had  seven  tiers  of  boxes, 
crowded  by  a  delighted  audience,  and  the  pit  had  seats,  as 
they  remarked,  and  was  filled  by  people  of  fashion.  The 
difficulty  of  getting  out  again  was  great,  for  before  the  theatre 
there  was  a  piece  of  waste  ground  full  of  open  drains  and 
numerous  excavations. 

Notre  Dame  at  that  period  was  the  richest  cathedral  in  the 
kingdom.  Over  its  entrances  were  life-size  statues  of  twenty- 
eight  kings  of  France,  all  afterwards  destroyed  at  the  Revo- 
lution. The  high  altar,  soon  to  be  desecrated  by  a  fille 
de  ropera  in  the  guise  of  the  Goddess  of  Reason,  was  of 
porphyry,  and  the  chapels  were  full  of  noble  statuary  and 
precious  marbles. 

On  the  25th  of  May  Jacquinot  came  of  age,  and  his  com- 
panions celebrated  the  event  by  a  most  sumptuous  breakfast, 
costing  them  two  francs  and  a  half  apiece.  They  visited  the 
Church  of  the  Maturins,  where  they  saw  an  altar-cloth  that 
Cognet  describes  as  "  marvellous,  the  only  thing  of  the 
kind  that  exists.  Brocatelle  de  sole  (Tor  et  argent." 

The  Gobelins  was  just  as  we  have  all  seen  it,  no  changes 
in  that  establishment  having  been  effected  by  the  Revolution. 
They  dined  outside  the  barriere  for  eighteen  sous  apiece, 
"  as  well  as  we  could  have  done  within  the  walls  for  twice 
that  sum,"  and  they  spent  the  afternoon  in  seeing  one 
of  the  saddest  sights  that  ever  disgraced  humanity.  The 


124  THE  FREA'CH  REVOLUTION. 

Salpetriere  was  a  place  of  confinement  for  all  kinds  of  un- 
fortunate women.  The  establishment  in  1787  contained 
seven  thousand  of  them,  and  was  presided  over  by  twelve 
Sisters  of  the  order  of  Ste.  Claire.  Among  the  women  of 
loose  character  they  saw  Madame  de  la  Motte,  the  infamous 
heroine  of  the  "  Diamond  Necklace,"  who,  escaping  soon 
after  during  the  Revolution,  is  said,  under  the  assumed 
name  of  Comtesse  Guacher,  to  have  become  partner  in  the 
evangelization  of  Russia  with  Madame  de  Krudener,  the 
friend  of  the  Emperor  Alexander.  Although  classed  with 
the  Magdalens  on  the  register  of  the  establishment,  Madame 
de  la  Motte  had  a  room  to  herself,  and  was  not  obliged  to 
wear  their  dress,  a  robe  of  coarse  woollen,  fashioned  like 
a  sack.  The  young  men  bribed  their  guide  to  let  them  see 
her.  "  She  has  the  deportment  and  manners  of  a  lady 
of  quality,"  says  Cognet.  "She  seemed  very  much  sur- 
prised by  our  visit ;  but  as  it  probably  was  a  change  to  her, 
she  did  not  resent  it,  and  entered  into  conversation  with  us. 
She  was  dressed  like  a  lady  in  deshabill/,  and  was  busy  flut- 
ing something  when  we  entered." 

The  other  women  slept  five  in  a  bed.  The  kitchens  were 
neat  and  commodious.  Seven  coppers  made  soup  for  the 
seven  thousand  women,  half  an  ox  to  each  copper,  —  which 
seems  a  miserable  allowance.  They  were  all  occupied, 
generally  with  needlework,  and  among  them  were  several 
women  who  were  there  by  choice.  The  hospital  and 
nursery  departments  were  likewise  visited  ;  but  the  Sisters 
with  all  their  care  "could  not  prevent  the  air-  of  these 
places  from  being  intolerable.  The  most  dreadful  sight 
we  saw,  however,"  says  Cognet,  "  was  that  of  the  poor 
creatures  deprived  of  reason."  Some  of  his  details  are  too 
shocking  for  repetition.  Those  liable  to  fits  of  fury  were 
kept  chained  in  kennels,  and  an  iron  barrier  cut  them  off 
from  personal  communication  even  with  the  keepers  of  the 
establishment.  Their  lairs  were  cleaned  out  twice  a  day 
with  rakes,  and  their  food  was  thrust  in  to  them.  Among 
these  wretched  creatures  was  a  beautiful  young  girl,  who 
had  loved  a  young  nobleman  who  had  betrayed  her.  "  If 


PARIS  IN  1787.  125 

it  had  not  been  for  the  fetters  round  her  beautiful  bare 
arms,  we  could  not  have  believed  that  she  was  subject 
to  attacks  of  violent  mania.  Her  melancholy  beseeching 
looks  proved  that  in  lucid  intervals  she  realized  the  horrors 
of  her  situation."  She  hid  herself  in  her  kennel  at  their 
approach,  but  afterwards  came  out,  and  made  gestures 
to  Thiry.  When  they  came  back  she  was  in  a  paroxysm  of 
despair,  and  was  tearing  her  flesh  and  clothes.  Many  had 
only  an  old  quilt  for  a  covering. 

No  traveller  could  visit  Paris  without  going  to  Versailles. 
On  Whitsunday  our  young  Lorrainers  went  thither  with 
a  great  crowd.  Their  first  sight  was  the  procession  of  those 
who  wore  the  grand  cordon  of  St.  Louis.  All  noblemen 
so  decorated  left  the  king's  apartment  at  midday,  and  went 
in  procession  to  the  chapel,  followed  by  the  princes  of  the 
blood,  the  queen,  her  ladies,  and  the  king  himself.  The 
dauphin,  whom  the  queen  held  by  the  hand,  was  not  the 
sufferer  of  the  Temple,  but  his  elder  brother,  who  died  two 
years  after  this  Whitsunday,  —  June  4,  1789.  "Our  queen's 
features  are  not  perfect,"  remarks  Cognet ;  "but  she  seems 
more  beautiful  than  any  lady  at  court  because  of  the  nobility 
of  her  expression  and  the  splendor  of  her  carriage.  Even 
when  dressed  in  very  humble  garments,  it  would  be  easy 
to  guess  that  she  was  born  to  a  throne.  Her  great  dignity 
does  not  impair  her  grace.  She  has  an  enchanting  smile 
and  a  peculiar  turn  of  her  head.  The  king's  countenance 
shows  his  great  kindliness,  and  his  glance,  though  it  is  timid 
(dfyourvu  (Faifdctce),  is  full  of  majesty.  The  dauphin," 
Cognet  also  remarks,  "  is  a  very  pretty  boy,  but  he  seems 
sad  and  sickly.  Though  hardly  five  years  old,  he  behaved 
admirably  at  mass,  and  only  once  made  a  little  friendly 
gesture  to  his  cousin,  the  Due  d'Angouleme,  when  the  grand 
cordon  was  conferred  on  him."  The  richness  of  the  court 
costumes  amazed  the  young  provincials.  The  queen  and 
the  princesses  were  literally  covered  with  jewels.  The  Du- 
chesse  de  Polignac  and  the  Princesse  de  Lamballe  were 
pointed  out  to  them  as  the  queen's  intimate  friends.  All 
present  were  not  required  to  wear  swords,  but  every  one  who 


126  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

did  so  was  admitted  to  the  palace  on  that  occasion.  "  The 
only  fault  that  we  could  see  in  the  apartments,"  adds 
Cognet,  "  was  perhaps  a  too  lavish  profusion  of  gold." 

The  grand  fountains  played,  and  the  young  men  were 
interested  in  the  menagerie,  particularly  in  the  rhinoceros. 
One  wonders  what  became  of  him  in  the  Revolution ! 
"  Versailles,"  says  our  young  writer,  —  and  his  observation 
is  as  true  now  as  it  was  then,  —  "  seems  still  to  be  pervaded 
by  Louis  XIV."  The  Louvre  at  that  time  was  in  process  of 
reconstruction,  and  the  part  finished  was  full  of  artists'  studios 
and  workshops  of  all  kinds,  granted  rent  free  to  persons 
who  had  influence  to  secure  them. 

On  the  Sunday  after  Whitsuntide  they  left  Paris  for  St. 
Cloud  in  a  flatboat,  containing  three  hundred  persons. 
On  reaching  their  destination,  where  the  fountains  did  not 
play  till  five  o'clock,  they  made  their  way  on  foot  across 
country  to  Versailles,  and  visited  the  Trianon. 

At  the  Petit  Trianon,  "  the  queen's  plaything,"  they  saw 
her  English  garden,  her  farm,  her  farm  buildings,  a  ruin, 
a  plain,  a  forest,  and. a  mountain,  all  artificial,  and  on  a  tiny 
scale.  "  The  queen  comes  here  frequently,"  says  her  young 
subject,  "  to  get  rid  of  the  burthen  of  her  greatness.  She 
loves  to  be  alone  here  for  hours  at  a  time.  The  house 
is  in  no  sense  a  palace.  The  walls  are  covered  with  straw- 
work,  alternating  with  worsted  embroidery ;  the  floors  are 
spread  with  matting  imitating  marqueterie.  In  the  garden 
there  are  none  but  wild  flowers.  There  is  no  etiquette 
observed  at  the  Petit  Trianon  ;  none  of  the  distinctions  du 
tabouret  prevail  there.  As  we  were  leaving  the  bathing 
rooms,  we  were  apprised  of  the  arrival  of  Marie  Antoinette  ; 
and  as  we  had  not  time  to  escape  through  the  gate,  our 
guide  hurried  us  into  the  dairy.  The  queen  approached, 
accompanied  by  one  of  her  court  ladies  ;  but  she  dismissed 
her  presently,  and  came  alone  directly  toward  us.  She 
wore  a  simple  dress  of  clear  white  cambric,  a  fichu,  and 
a  head-dress  of  lace  ;  and  in  this  quiet  dress  she  seemed 
even  more  queenly  than  in  the  court  costume  in  which  we 
had  last  seen  her.  Her  way  of  walking  is  peculiar.  She 


PARIS  IN  1787.  127 

glides  forward  with  inexpressible  grace,  and  her  head  was 
thrown  back  more  proudly  when  she  thought  herself  alone 
than  when  she  was  in  the  midst  of  pomp  and  people.  Our 
queen  passed  close  to  the  place  where  we  were  hid,  and  we 
all  three  had  an  impulse  to  step  forth  and  kneel  before  her. 
We  were  divided  between  the  wish  that  she  should  see  us  and 
the  fear  that  she  might  do  so.  As  soon  as  her  Majesty  had 
passed,  our  guide  made  us  leave  the  garden.  As  it  was 
four  o'clock,  we  took  a  carriage  which  soon  brought  us  to 
St.  Cloud." 

At  this  time  the  first  fire  department  was  being  organized 
in  Paris.  One  of  the  sights  they  went  to  see  was  La  Sa- 
maritaine,  a  dilapidated  piece  of  machinery  that  had  been 
constructed  for  forcing  water  from  the  Seine  to  the  Tuileries 
in  case  of  fire.  They  remarked  at  the  time  that  the  recent 
discovery  of  fire  engines  (pompes  a  feu)  would  supersede 
this  old  machine.  This  prophecy  was  fulfilled  for  them 
as  they  returned  home  from  St.  Cloud.  As  they  came 
in  sight  of  the  Tuileries,  they  saw  part  of  the  Pavilion  de 
Flore  on  fire  ;  and  while  interesting  themselves  in  the  pompes, 
which  were  mounted  upon  boats  in  the  Seine,  Jacquinot  was 
pressed  into  the  service,  and  compelled  to  work  hard  for 
eight  or  ten  hours.  The  Tuileries  seems  to  have  been 
always  thought  particularly  liable  to  conflagration. 

Thiry  had  been  greatly  depressed  for  more  than  a  week 
past,  and,  declining  an  expedition  to  Marly,  took  to  his  bed. 
His  illness,  however,  proved  to  be  homesickness.  He  was 
pining  for  his  family  ;  and  having  made  up  his  mind  to  return 
to  Nancy  by  the  next  diligence,  he  grew  perfectly  well  again. 
His  companions  saw  him  off,  and  then  went  to  the  beautiful 
country  seat  of  the  Prince  de  Conde  (the  unfortunate  Due 
d'Enghien's  grandfather)  at  Chantilly.  The  place  was  extraor- 
dinarily beautiful,  and  was  everywhere  decorated  with  illustra- 
tions of  La  Fontaine's  "  Fables  "  in  sculpture.  Chantilly  they 
thought  as  charming  as  Versailles  was  dull  and  magnificent. 
Among  other  things,  they  saw  in  the  armory  the  swords  of 
Jeanne  d'Arc,  and  of  Henri  IV. 

On  the  nth  of  June  they  wrote  a  letter  to  say  that  they 


1 2  8  THE  FRENCH  RE  VOL  UTWN. 

should  soon  be  home,  sent  off  their  trunk  by  diligence, 
engaged  their  places  for  the  following  week,  and  spent  the 
day  in  executing  commissions.  They  had  some  difficulty 
in  getting  their  trunk  through  the  custom-house,  which  then 
examined  every  article  that  left  Paris,  but  this  being  accom- 
plished they  prepared  for  a  fresh  jaunt  to  see  the  ocean. 

They  started  on  foot  through  Marly  and  St.  Germain, 
and  at  Poissy  took  a  flatboat — galiote — on  the  Seine. 
This  vessel  had  no  seats,  no  cabin,  and  no  protection  from 
the  weather,  so  that  they  suffered  terribly  from  a  blazing 
sun,  but  it  was  a  cheap  mode  of  travelling ;  eight  hours  of 
it  cost  them  each  thirty  sous.  They  hired  two  rough  Nor- 
man ponies  at  Roulle,  and  rode  twenty-one  miles  on  them 
to  Rouen,  paying  another  thirty  sous  apiece  for  the  animals. 
They  saw  the  sights  of  Rouen,  the  same  as  in  our  own  day, 
and  continued  their  journey  by  flatboats  and  on  hired 
horses  to  Honfleur,  the  harbor  of  which  was  then  full  of 
vessels  from  the  Baltic,  but  it  was  being  rapidly  filled  up  by 
sand.  On  the  i5th  they  saw  Havre  and  the  sea  for  the  first 
time,  and  bathed  in  salt  water  at  once.  They  aje  turbot, 
lobster,  and  various  shellfish,  and  went  on  board  a  man  o' 
war  corvette,  and  admired  the  merchant  shipping.  They 
went  to  the  theatre  as  a  matter  of  course,  and,  in  short,  made 
the  most  of  their  one  day's  stay  at  Havre.  They  were  very 
much  interested  in  all  they  saw,  but  thought  Havre  a  very 
dear  city  to  live  in.  They  had  the  good  taste  to  admire  the 
scenery  along  the  banks  of  the  Seine  on  their  journey  back 
to  Rouen,  and  Cognet  informs  us  that  at  that  time  the  city 
contained  a  hqndred  thousand  inhabitants.  They  visited 
the  market-place  where  poor  Jeanne  d'Arc  was  burned, 
drank  Norman  cider,  and  went  to  the  theatre,  where  they 
made  two  in  an  audience  of  ten,  the  manager  having  quar- 
relled with  the  public.  Partly  on  foot,  and  partly  in  a  flat- 
boat,  they  made  their  return  journey  from  Rouen  to  Paris. 
The  last  stage  of  their  journey,  on  a  wet  night,  in  an  intoler- 
able crowd  upon  the  bare  deck  of  the  boat,  was  very  uncom- 
fortable. They  were  interested,  however,  in  an  escaped  nun 
they  had  on  board,  who  made  no  secret  of  her  adventures. 


PARIS  IN  1787.  129 

"  She  was  a  girl  of  no  personal  charms,  who  had  been  put 
into  a  convent  against  her  will.  She  got  out  by  climbing  up 
some  trellis-work  beside  a  wall,  until  she  reached  the  top, 
when  she  slipped  down  into  the  road.  There  is  little  doubt 
she  will  continue  to  slip  more,"  adds  Cognet,  "  as  she  goes 
further." 

They  stayed  three  more  days  in  Paris,  and  then  (June  22) 
in  the  society  of  a  Jesuit  father,  "good  company  and  no 
bigot,"  a  spur-maker  and  his  son,  the  Sieur  Bouthoux,  a 
bookseller  of  Nancy,  two  Englishmen  who  could  not  speak 
French,  and  a  tobacco  agent  from  Lune'ville,  they  started 
for  Nancy.  The  journey  was  uneventful,  without  any  acci- 
dent to  the  passengers,  though  the  diligence,  in  going  down 
a  steep  hill  without  brakes,  at  one  stage  ran  over  its  two 
postilions,  who  were  left  behind  under  charge  of  charitable 
persons,  while  the  Englishmen  mounted  the  horses,  and 
carried  the  diligence  through  to  the  next  post-town. 

Thiry  had  come  out  one  stage  to  meet  them.  They  all 
breakfasted  together  at  Toul,  and  there  the  young  men  took 
leave  of  their  fellow-travellers,  for  the  route  of  the  diligence 
did  not  lie  through  Nancy.  In  a  few  hours  they  were  safe 
at  home,  "  enjoying,"  as  Cognet  concludes,  "  each  of  us  on 
his  own  part  the  pleasure  that  others  felt  in  our  safe  return, 
after  seven  weeks'  absence." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

COURT   LIFE   AT  VERSAILLES  ON  THE  EVE  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 
[From  the  pen  of  a  nineteenth-century  reporter.1] 

T)ERMIT  me,  good  reader,  to  borrow  the  services  of 
-*•  Asmodeus,  and,  without  being  either  a  philosopher,  a 
humorist,  or  an  historian,  to  take  you  into  Paris  —  the  Paris 
of  1789  —  in  the  character  of  a  modern  reporter. 

The  first  thing  that  will  strike  us  is  the  height  of  the  houses, 
the  narrowness  of  the  streets,  and  the  dimness  of  the  shops. 
There  are  fewer  gable  roofs  than  I  expected,  and  more  vehi- 
cles of  various  kinds  than  I  had  supposed.  The  buildings 
and  monuments  that  I  recognize  appear  strange  to  me,  be- 
cause of  the  great  difference  in  their  surroundings ;  and 
in  the  streets  is  a  throng  noisily,  boisterously,  brutally  gay, 
giving  to  old  Paris  an  air  of  activity  and  movement' for  which 
I  was  not  prepared.  I  look  steadily  at  the  costumes  of  the 
crowd.  They  are  not  what  I  expected.  I  had  imagined 
I  should  see  in  the  streets  of  Paris  personages  like  the  actors 
in  comic  opera.  Not  a  bit  of  it !  There  are  very  few  bright 
colors  worn  on  the  streets,  very  little  velvet,  and  still  less  silk. 
Stout  blue,  brown,  and  black  cloth  is  worn  by  the  men. 
Workingmen  wear  trousers,  and  are  dressed  like  the  peasants 
of  western  France  in  our  own  day.  Where  are  the  great 
nobles,  all  embroidered  in  gold?  A  moment  ago  I  caught 
sight  of  a  man  dressed  in  pink  silk,  but  he  was  a  street  singer 
in  the  guise  of  a  marquis.  Where  are  the  real  marquises? 
Oh,  I  forgot.  They  are  all  at  Versailles.  We  will  go  to 
Versailles,  then,  and  begin  with  the  court  circle. 

When  Louis  XIV.  died,  Louis  XV.,  not  daring  to  keep 
up  the  same  state  as  his  majestic  great-grandfather,  took  up 

1  From  the  "  Supplement  Litteraire  du  Figaro,"  translated  by  me 
and  published  Feb.  23,  1889,  in  "Littell's  Living  Age."  —  E.  W.  L. 


ON  THE  EVE  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  131 

his  quarters  in  the  left  wing  of  the  chateau,  which  was  divided 
into  small  suites  of  apartments ;  and  in  these  same  small 
apartments  lives  Louis  XVI.  His  royal  spouse  prefers  the 
Trianon.  But  we  will  begin,  in  our  capacity  of  invisible 
reporter,  with  Louis  himself. 

He  was  born  at  Versailles,  Aug.  23,  1754;  so  that  he  is 
now,  in  1789,  thirty-five  years  old.  He  is  very  stout,  but 
he  is  also  very  muscular,  and  more  quick  in  his  movements 
than  his  people  give  him  credit  for.  His  forehead  recedes, 
his  nose  is  short,  his  chin  fat,  and  his  complexion  slightly 
florid.  His  eyes  are  commonly  without  much  expression, 
but  when  excited  his  glance  can  be  stern  and  severe,  — 
which  is  a  great  contrast  to  the  usual  kindly  expression  of 
his  physiognomy. 

The  king  has  the  manners  of  a  gentleman,  but  not  those 
of  a  prince.  His  movements  are  brusque  and  awkward. 
Physically  and  morally,  his  defect  is  indecision.  Like  all 
weak  men,  he  has  occasionally  sudden  spurts  of  violent 
temper.  His  morals  are  so  pure  that  his  virtues  are  sneered 
at  by  his  licentious  nobles,  while  they  have  failed  to  attract 
the  good  opinion  of  his  people.  He  adores  his  queen,  and 
cannot  bear  to  hear  her  slandered,  though  sometimes  his 
affection  seems  to  turn  to  bitterness.  He  can  occasionally 
be  as  jealous  as  a  bourgeois,  yet  he  trusts  her  in  everything. 

One  day  he  said,  "  M.  Turgot  and  I  are  the  only  two 
men  in  France  who  really  love  the  people."  He  does  love 
his  people,  beyond  doubt ;  but  he  distrusts  them,  though 
he  has  as  yet  no  conception  of  their  latent  capacity  for 
revolution.  At  this  moment,  as  we  look  at  him,  he  is 
going  through  a  terrible  struggle  with  financial  and  politi- 
cal difficulties.  His  relief  comes  when  he  can  give  him- 
self up  with  his  whole  soul  to  his  much-talked-of  labors 
in  locksmithing  and  watch-making.  Indeed,  there  is  not 
in  all  Paris  a  more  skilful  workman.  His  appetite  is 
formidable ;  we  will  say  more  about  it  by  and  by.  It 
is  only  when  he  works  like  a  journeyman  and  feeds  like 
Gargantua  that  he  seems  gay;  his  soul  is  ordinarily  heavy 
within  him. 


132  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

He  cannot  forget  all  the  cruel  little  intrigues  which  have 
already  darkened  the  splendors  of  his  reign,  and  are  indeed 
a  sort  of  prelude  to  the  terrible  misfortunes  about  to  fall  on 
his  family.  Such  things  as  the  affair  of  the  diamond  neck- 
lace, the  scandal  of  the  "  Marriage  of  Figaro,"  played  at 
court,  the  queen  taking  a  principal  part  herself,  in  spite  of 
his  prohibition,  the  gossip  about  Marie  Antoinette's  having 
been  married  seven  years  before  she  became  a  mother, 
worry  and  agitate  him.  He  is  sad,  very  sad ;  and  what  is 
now  mere  anxiety  will  before  long  turn  to  horror. 

Marie  Antoinette,  born  Archduchess  of  Austria,  is  now 
thirty-four.  Supremely  elegant,  brought  up  in  the  most 
aristocratic  court  of  Europe,  she  has  all  the  faults  and  all 
the  charms  of  the  aristocracy  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
Proud  and  yet  frivolous,  jealous  of  the  prerogatives  of  her 
station  and  yet  impatient  of  the  restraints  of  etiquette,  she 
shocks  the  nobility  by  her  want  of  dignity  and  the  bourgeoisie 
by  the  lightness  of  her  behavior. 

Is  she  beautiful  ?  Not  precisely.  But  she  belongs  to  that 
class  of  women  who,  in  the  language  of  our  own  day,  are 
called  "captivating."  Her  profile  is  aquiline,  possibly  a 
little  too  much  so ;  her  eyes  are  very  bright ;  her  mouth 
charming  ;  her  complexion  brilliant ;  her  manners  easy,  free, 
and  sometimes  a  shade  wanting  in  queenliness. 

She  is  a  mark  for  the  most  rascally  insinuations,  particu- 
larly on  the  part  of  some  members  of  her  husband's  'family. 
An  evil  motive  is  imputed  to  her  most  innocent  fancies  ;  as, 
for  example,  that  of  dressing  like  a  shepherdess  when  she 
lives  in  her  pretty  little  cottage  at  the  Trianon.  Thousands 
of  songs  are  sung  about  her  in  the  streets.  Some  will  con- 
tinue celebrated,  and  need  not  be  here  mentioned;  some 
are  obscene,  and  not  to  be  repeated ;  but  here  is  one  that  I 
have  never  heard  before,  —  nor  probably  you,  reader,  -j- 
which  I  heard  a  man  humming  at  Versailles,  almost  within 
earshot  of  the  Trianon  :  — 

"  La  berg&re  de  Trianon, 
Quand  on  dit  oui,  ne  dit  pas  non ; 
Elle  est  sensible,  mais  volage ; 


LOUIS  XVI. 


ON  THE  EVE  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  133 

Elle  accommode  a  sa  fa9on 
Le  bon  gar9on,  le  gros  gar9on, 
Qui  1'osa  prendre  en  mariage." 

"  The  shepherd  maid  of  Trianon, 
If  you  say  out,  will  not  say  non  ; 

Tender  but  changeable,  't  is  said  her 
Arts  can  manage  (how  's  not  known) 
The  good  fat  fellow  on  the  throne 

Who  has  dared  to  wed  her." 

If  such  things  are  sung  within  earshot  of  the  court,  what  am 
I  likely  to  hear  in  the  city? 

The  Comte  de  Provence,  the  king's  next  brother,  was  born 
in  1755.  He  has  a  high  forehead,  denoting  intelligence  ; 
his  eyes  are  bright  and  piercing,  his  mouth  scornful,  his 
manners  easy,  but  haughty  at  the  same  time.  Since  his 
elder  brother  ascended  the  throne,  he  bears  the  title  of 
Monsieur.  He  dabbles  a  good  deal  in  politics,  and  is  in 
open  opposition  to  the  influence  of  the  queen  and  her 
coterie.  He  surrounds  himself  with  men  of  letters,  has  « 
caustic  wit,  and  is  skilful  at  mystifications,  is  fond  of  quoting 
Latin,  cares  little  for  women,  and  is  a  singular  mixture  of 
excessive  aristocratic  exclusiveness  and  of  progressive  ten- 
dencies. He  understands  England  and  admires  parliament- 
ary and  constitutional  government,  makes  fun  of  "  Gothic  " 
proclivities,  and  paves  the  way  for  the  rising  power  of  the 
bourgeoisie ;  but  yet  he  is  prince  of  the  blood,  down  to  his 
very  finger-nails. 

What  a  contrast  the  Comte  d'Artois  presents  to  his  two 
brothers  !  He  is  Charles  Philippe  of  France  now,  but  forty- 
two  years  later  will  have  been  Charles  X.  and  be  for  the 
second  time  an  exile  at  Holyrood.  He  is  a  tall  young  man, 
slender,  elegant,  and  active,  —  a  handsome  fellow,  gallant  to 
the  verge  of  libertinism,  without  much  education,  but  with 
natural  talent.  Being  an  accomplished  rider,  he  has  during 
the  last  year  or  two  brought  racing  into  fashion,  —  for  there 
are  races  in  Paris  in  1 789.  He  owns  a  stable  and  trainers 
and  jockeys,  whom  he  calls  des  jaquets. 

See,  yonder  comes  a  boy  four  years  old,  fair,  gentle,  ex- 


134  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

quisitely  graceful.  He  is  the  son  of  Louis  XVI.  and  of 
Marie  Antoinette,  —  the  poor  boy  who  will  endure  such 
sufferings  in  the  Temple.  There  he  will  live  for  months 
without  uttering  a  word  ;  now  he  chatters  like  a  little  man. 
Indeed,  some  of  his  sayings  show  the  spirit  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  He  first  made  the  remark  attributed  nowadays 
to  many  children,  "  If  God  sends  rain  to  make  the  corn 
grow,  why  does  He  let  it  fall  upon  the  pavement?" 

His  sister,  the  future  Duchesse  d'Angouleme,  is  playing 
with  him,  but  without  much  vivacity.  Her  disposition  is 
not  melancholy  yet,  but  she  is  dominated  by  a  precocious 
feeling  of  dignity. 

The  king  rises  at  seven,  says  his  prayers,  and  then  proceeds 
to  dress.  He  then  goes  to  mass,  receives  his  ministers  and 
ambassadors,  dines,  takes  a  walk,  works  at  his  watch- 
making, and  joins  the  queen  at  the  Trianon ;  holds  public 
and  private  audiences,  eats  his  supper,  and  goes  to  bed. 

He  rarely  changes  his  dress  during  the  day,  unless  he  has 
t<^  leave  the  chateau.  To-day  he  is  wearing  a  coat  of  gray 
silk,  ornamented  with  silver.  His  small-clothes  are  of  the 
same  material,  his  waistcoat  is  white  satin,  embroidered  in 
silk  with  roses  and  green  leaves,  with  silver  spangles  and 
silver  buttons,  like  those  on  the  coat,  but  smaller.  He  wears 
a  three-cornered  hat,  trimmed  with  a  silver  cord,  and  carries 
a  long  cane  with  a  gold  knob.  His  shoe-buckles  are  silver, 
and  his  lace  ruffles  are  point  (TAlen^on. 

At  one  o'clock  I  see  him  at  his  dinner.  The  steward  of 
the  household  has  shown  me  the  menu,  and,  what  is  more,  he 
has  let  me  see  the  prices. 

Beef  stewed  in  its  own  juice.  Blanquette  of  chicken,  with  truffles. 

Rice  soup.  Squabs  a  la  D'Huxelles. 

Onion  and  chicken  soup.  Ham  and  spinach. 

Pates  de  foie  gras.  Turkey  a  la  Perigueux. 

'Chicken  pates.  Three  fat  pullets;  one  larded. 

Mutton  chops.  Eighteen  larks. 

Stewed  rabbit.  One  young  duck  from  Rouen. 

Chicken  wings  and  trimmings.  One  chicken  from  Caux. 

Salmi  of  red  partridges.  Six  partridges. 

Spring  chickens  a  rAllemande.  Three  woodcocks. 
Veal  kidneys  glaces. 


ON  THE  EVE   OF  THE  REVOLUTION.          135 

The  cost  of  all  this  amounts  to  two  hundred  and  eighty 
francs.  Living  seeqps  to  have  been  more  abundant  and 
far  cheaper  then  than  in  our  own  day.  Such  a  repast  served 
in  1889  by  a  leading  Paris  restaurateur  would  not  cost  less 
than  one  thousand  francs,  without  wine. 

The  court  balls  are  charming;  they  dance  gavottes  and 
minuets,  and  sometimes  even  a  dance  called  the  chaconne, 
derived  from  the  ballet  of  the  opera,  for  stately  dances  are 
going  out  of  fashion.  The  queen,  being  a  native  of  Austria, 
has  introduced  the  waltz  and  several  Hungarian  dances,  to 
the  great  scandal  of  old  members  of  the  Old  Regime.  In 
other  respects,  the  court  at  the  chateau  can  hardly  be  said 
to  amuse  itself.  It  is  preoccupied  with  politics.  The  great 
social  interest  is  at  the  Trianon. 

The  Little  Trianon  is  a  sort  of  earthly  paradise  in  mini- 
ature. A  great  deal  of  unnecessary  fuss  has  been  made 
about  this  graceful  fancy  of  the  queen's,  which,  as  royal 
fancies  go,  is  not  expensive.  It  is  a  vision  of  Watteau 
realized  by  a  rich  and  charming  woman.  It  is  opera  comiqu'e 
incarnate  ;  it  is  foolishly  and  divinely  fascinating. 

The  little  palace  is  the  most  perfect  expression  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  It  has  a  little  theatre  and  a  temple  to 
Cupid.  A  belvedere  is  on  the  summit  of  a  hillock  in  the 
park,  and  near  it  are  the  farm  buildings,  the  dairy,  the  school, 
and  the  temple  to  Love.  Ah,  what  a  charming  spot !  Here 
the  queen  walks  and  rests,  drinks  milk,  eats  curds,  makes 
cream-cheeses,  wears  pink  or  blue  percale,  and  a  straw  hat 
trimmed  with  blue-bells  or  cornflowers.  Her  dearest  friends 
are  there  her  company.  There  is  the  Princesse  de  Lamballe, 
and  the  Princesse  de  Polignac,  and  her  favorites  among  the 
gentlemen,  Comte  Adhemar,  Comte  Patastron,  and  M.  de 
Vaudreuil.  All  conform,  with  the  best  grace  in  the  world, 
to  this  elegant  caprice  of  the  queen,  who,  weary  of  gayety, 
masked  balls,  sleighing  parties,  and  other  court  amusements, 
has  now  taken  a  fancy  to  play  the  shepherdess,  after  the  pat- 
tern of  those  in  Florian.  All  her  guests  wear  village  cos- 
tumes :  the  royal  princes  and  princesses  take  their  share 
in  these  elegant  and  innocent  diversions.  The  king  is  the 


136  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

village  miller.  He  may  be  seen  carrying  on  his  back  heavy 
sacks  of  grain  and  flour.  His  strength  is  herculean.  The 
queen  is  milkmaid,  and  serves  out  her  milk  to  the  good 
villagers  of  the  neighborhood. 

Monsieur  —  that  is  the  Comte  de  Provence  —  is  the  school- 
master, and  teaches  little  boys  from  the  neighboring  vil- 
lages. He  is  particularly  delighted  with  this  travesty ;  and 
as  he  has  always  had  a  taste  for  letters  and  a  dash  of  the 
pedagogue  in  his  disposition,  he  plays  his  part  with  wonder- 
ful success.  One  day,  a  boy,  too  young  to  have  learned 
respect  for  royalty,  flung  a  paper  pellet  across  the  room, 
which  hit  the  prince  in  the  face.  His  Highness  rose,  and 
seized  the  delinquent  by  the  ears.  "Ah,  Monseigneur," 
cried  the  boy,  "  you  are  only  making  believe  to  teach  school, 
have  mercy,  and  only  make  believe  to  whip  me  ! " 

The  evenings  at  the  Trianon  are  very  gay,  and  are  unre- 
strained by  ceremony.  They  play  on  the  harpsichord,  they 
sing  Carat's  songs,  they  talk  a  little  scandal,  —  not  much, 
however.  Sometimes  stories  are  told  of  gayety  or  gallantry, 
but  they  would  have  seemed  insipidly  virtuous  to  the  Queen 
of  Navarre.  Madrigals  are  also  written  to  Queen  Marie 
Antoinette. 

"  I  seek  in  verse  to  celebrate  the  beauty  I  adore, 

I  think  of  it  —  rethink  of  it,  in  vain  ; 

My  happy  heart  with  thought  of  it  with  joy  so  runneth  o'er 
My  mind  cannot  find  words  to  weave  the  strain." 

Sometimes  they  even  presume  to  write  epigrams  on  cruel 
ladies.  Here  is  a  specimen  :  — 

"  You  have  sworn  me  love  eternal 

Often,  lady  fair ; 
And  the  vows  you  swore,  as  often 

Sailed  away  on  air. 
I  know  it  too  well,  loveliest; 

And,  if  the  air  were  slow, 
You  'd  agitate  your  gilded  fan 

And  make  them  faster  go." 

Before  they  separate  for  the  night  after  these  pleasures, 


ON  THE  EVE   OF  THE  REVOLUTION.          137 

they  wind  up  —  let  me  whisper  it,  lest  it  encourage  evil  tastes 
in  the  Paris  of  1889  —  with  onion  soup  ! 1 

ON  THE  QUEEN  OF  FRANCE  ASKING  FOR  VERSES  ON  HER  DEFECTS. 

By   M.   DE   BOUFFLERS. 

Would  you  know  what  Rumor  lays 

To  the  charge  of  Antoinette? 
That  she  's  often  light  it  says, 
Fickle,  mad,  and  a  coquette. 
And  is  it  so  ? 
Ah,  yes !  but  know 
So  nice  the  line  that  fancy  draws, 
Her  very  slights 
Create  delights, 
And  Cato's  self  would  smile  applause. 

If  for  business  or  for  pleasure 
The  hour  by  herself  be  set, 
One,  't  is  said,  may  wait  her  leisure ; 
'T  is  a  trifle  to  forget. 
And  is  it  so? 
Ah,  yes !  but  know 
That  when  one  next  beholds  her  face, 
All  wrongs  adieu, 
Delights  renew, 
And  time  flies  on  with  double  pace. 

That  /and  me  fill  all  discourse 

And  .reruns  on  ouppomoly )  •  <?XT/2  £A**  1s  t-J   j 

'T  is  said  she  finds  no  other  source, 
She  loves  herself  supremely. 
And  is  it  so  ? 
Ah,  yes  !  but  know 
The  case  is  just,  you  '11  find ; 
What  blame  to  prove 
That  she  should  love 
What 's  loved  by  all  mankind  ? 

1  It  must  have  been  on  one  of  these  occasions  that  the  Marquis 
de  Boufflers  addressed  some  charming  lines  to  Marie  Antoinette, 
who  had  asked  him  to  tell  her  of  her  faults.  I  have  never  seen  the 
original  of  M.  de  Boufflers'  poem.  But  a  translation  of  it  was  in  an 
extract  book  made  by  my  mother  in  her  youth,  and  she  made  me 
learn  the  verses  when  I  was  a  little  girl.  I  have  an  impression  that 
she  told  me  the  translation  had  been  made  by  one  of  the  literary 
young  men  in  Boston  in  her  day,  —  Mr.  Ticknor,  Mr.  Prescott,  Mr. 
Tudor,  or  Mr.  Parsons.  —  E.  W.  L. 


138  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION: 

Few  people  know  that  it  was  Pascal  of  the  "  Lettres  Pro- 
vinciales  "  who  first  conceived  the  idea  of  establishing  om- 
nibuses in  Paris.  The  scheme  was  tried,  but  in  1789  had 
been  given  up.  Instead,  we  can  find  plenty  of  hackney- 
coaches.  They  are  heavy,  cumbersome,  ill  built,  and  have 
each  a  pair  of  horses.  The  drivers  are  all  in  rags,  but  some 
wear  old  dress  livery  coats  in  tatters.  There  is  also  a  sort 
of  cabriolet  hung  very  high  upon  large  wheels  like  those  in 
Naples,  and  there  are  plenty  of  sedan  chairs,  some  of  them 
very  luxurious,  and  borne  by  well-dressed  stout  chairmen. 
There  are  a  few  coucous,  but  as  yet  these  are  not  in  all  their 
glory. 

In  1789  the  Parisians  had  no  prescience  of  M.  Haussmann, 
but  instinctively  their  souls  longed  for  him.  A  distinguished 
architect,  M.  Dewailly,  is,  at  the  very  moment  of  our  visit, 
about  to  exhibit,  with  the  king's  permission,  in  the  salon  of 
the  Louvre,  a  project  for  laying  out  the  streets  of  Paris  afresh, 
almost  like  that  of  the  future  Baron  Haussmann. 

Alas!  in  1789  the  Louvre,  the  Tuileries,  and  the  Palais 
Royal  are  surrounded  by  a  network  of  disreputable  streets, 
the  haunt  of  cut-throats,  thieves,  and  burglars.  Near  the 
Hotel  de  Ville  there  are  some  peasants'  cottages,  with  their 
dunghills,1  and  pigs  wallowing  in  the  mire  ;  while  geese  splash 
and  cackle  in  the  gutters. 

The  public  drive  is  along  what  was  then  called  the  Grand 
Cours,  but  subsequently  was  renamed  the  Avenue  des  Champs 
Elyse"es.  The  Champs  Elys^es  is  a  kind  of  wood,  where 
skittle  players  and  football  players  make  matches  with  each 
other.  Private  equipages  drive  in  that  part  of  the  wood 
which  lies  back  of  the  gardens  of  the  houses  of  the  Rue  St. 
Honore".  The  Cours  de  la  Reine  is  separated  from  the 
Champs  Elysees  by  a  ditch  where  those  who  play  cochon- 
net  (an  old-fashioned  village  ball  game)  come  to  amuse 
themselves. 

The  Pont  Neuf  may  be  compared  to  the  heart  of  the  .ani- 
mal system.  It  is  the  centre  of  circulation  in  Paris  in  1 789. 
Police  agents  take  their  stand  there,  and  expect  to  arrest  the 

i  See  Book  IV.  Chapter  IV.  on  Robespierre. 


ON  THE  EVE   OF  THE  REVOLUTION.          139 

men  who  are  "wanted."  If  they  do  not  find  them  there, 
they  go  to  the  Palais  Royal.  The  openings  to  the  bridge 
are  a  great  place  for  camelots,  —  that  is,  the  Cheap  Jacks  of  that 
period,  —  and  likewise  for  recruiting  sergeants,  who  employ  all 
sorts  of  arts  to  entrap  the  unwary,  and  the  statue  of  Henri 
Quatre  looks  down  with  a  complaisant  smile  on  all  this  fraud 
and  hurly-burly. 

But  the  real  centre  of  Parisian  life  in  1 789  I  know  to  be 
the  Palais  Royal.  It  is  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  in 
spite  of  the  non-discovery  of  gas,  or  of  electricity,  the  Palais 
Royal  is  a  blaze  of  light  from  one  end  to  the  other.  Under 
the  arcades  jewellers  display  their  wares  behind  the  little 
panes  of  their  narrow  windows  which  glitter  like  the  stars. 
Here  are  long  chains  of  jewels,  pearls,  and  precious  stones ; 
watches  by  wholesale,  rings  of  all  kinds  ;  diamond  or  rhine- 
stone  ear-rings,  snuff-boxes,  gold  mounted  work-cases,  things 
that  constitute  our  modern  bric-a-brac,  filigree  jewelry,  and 
gold,  silver,  or  enamelled  cups  of  antique  shapes  with  ebony 
handles.  The  drapers  and  mercers  have  rich  stuffs  hanging 
from  the  ceiling  to  the  floor  of  their  establishments,  and  those 
who  pass  by  finger  them,  —  not  always  with  clean  hands. 

There  are  restaurants,  cafes,  and  eating-stands.  Drinking 
and  eating  go  on  at  all  hours,  street  musicians  are  endeav- 
oring to  charm  those  who  are  sitting  at  dinner,  and  beggars 
are  imploring  charity  with  a  nasal  whine. 

In  the  gardens  and  under  the  arcades  lounge  a  singular 
and  promiscuous  crowd.  Dandies  dressed  in  silk  elbow 
vagabonds  swarming  with  vermin.  An  English  family  all 
agape  with  curiosity  has  encountered  a  party  of  Turks,  wear- 
ing enormous  turbans,  who  pretend  to  take  no  interest  in  any- 
thing around  them. 

Young  men  of  fashion  sit  on  chairs  at  their  ease  in  the 
garden,  staring  at  the  women  through  their  glasses,  eating 
ices  and  reading  the  gazettes,  for  the  place  is  as  bright  as 
day.  /The  news  of  the  past  twenty-four  hours  is  discussed. 
There  are  disputes  and  quarrels  and  reconciliations.  De- 
bauchery in  the  Palais  Royal  takes  no  pains  to  hide  itself; 
it  is  there  on  its  own  ground. 


140 


THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 


Sometimes  great  people  visit  the  minor  theatres  as  a  joke. 
On  one  such  occasion  the  queen,  smelling  the  tempting 
savor  of  some  cabbage  soup  that  was  being  served  on  the 
stage,  had  a  bowl  full  of  it  brought  up  to  'her  box,  and  shared 
it  with  the  Princesse  de  Lamballe. 

To  turn  to  the  fashions  of  1789.  We  will  begin  with  the 
ladies'  coiffures.  They  are  outrageous.  The  caricatures  of 
the  time  tell  of  heads  being  dressed  to  resemble  frigates. 
But  I  dare  not  vouch  for  this.  It  may  be  caricature.1 

There  are  new  fashions  in  caps  of  all  kinds,  —  caps  a  la 
Gertrude,  which  imitate  those  of  peasant  women  ;  caps  aux 
sentiments  replies  (that  is,  "caps  of  repressed  feelings"),  and 
of  "the  slave  emancipated,"  etc. 

Bonnets  are  worn  only  by  great  ladies  and  by  wealthy 
bourgeoises.  They  are  commonly  of  straw,  tall  in  the'  crown, 
and  trimmed  with  silk,  ribbon,  and  lace.  Emerald  green 
intermixed  with  very  bright  pink  is  extremely  fashionable. 
It  is  proper  for  ladies  in  public  to  carry  a  fan  in  one  hand 
and  a  little  velvet  mask  in  the  other,  which,  however,  is 
rarely  put  on. 

Men  think  it  good  taste  to  dress  simply  in  the  street,  in 
dark  cloth,  after  the  English  fashion  ;  soot-color  (suie  des  che- 
minees  de  Londres)  is  very  fashionable.  The  hats  are  tall, 
tapering,  and  have  a  silver  buckle  in  the  middle  of  their 
ribbon.  Small-clothes  are  of  nankeen,  or  nankeen  color, 
opening  at  the  sides  with  seven  pearl  buttons.  White  stock- 
ings it  is  not  good  taste  to  wear  on  the  street  ;  they  should 
be  white  with  blue  stripes.  Men  carry  muffs  occasionally,  as 
well  as  the  ladies. 

It  is  the  correct  thing  for  a  man  of  fashion  to  carry  two 
watches,  and  to  hold  in  the  hand  a  bamboo  cane  with  a  gold 
knob,  or  one  of  porcelain.  Dandies  carry  the  cane  up  to  the 
shoulder,  like  a  musket. 

Besides  soot-color,  coats  are  made  of  apple-green  cloth, 
bottle-green,  dead-leaf,  and  beef-blood.  This  last  sang  de 
'v:,  quite  the  rage.  It  is  worn  with  a  white  silk  waistcoat, 


1  True,  however.     Madame  d'Oberkirch  describes  such  a  coiffure 
on  the  head  of  Marie  Antoinette.  —  E.  W.  L. 


ON  THE  EVE   OF  THE  REVOLUTION.          141 

and  small-clothes  made  of  satin,  of  an  untranslatable  color, 
tete  de  negre.  The  shirt  bosoms  and  the  cuffs  are  trimmed 
with  lace.  If  boots  are  worn  they  must  be  of  soft  leather ; 
yellow  top-boots  are  the  height  of  the  fashion,  but  only  the 
most  advanced  dandies  can  venture  to  wear  them.  The 
hair  is  commonly  powdered,  but  some  men  of  rank  have 
given  up  powder,  and  have  their  hair  simply  tied  behind 
with  a  black  ribbon. 

Little  boys  are  dressed  like  sailors,  partly  because  that  cos- 
tume is  worn  by  Monseigneur  the  Dauphin. 

What  would  you  say  to  me  if  I  left  Paris  without  seeing 
the  Bastille  ?  That  mysterious  prison,  which  in  a  few  weeks 
will  be  destroyed,  is  now  only  guarded  by  a  few  old  Invalides. 
One  may  be  permitted  in  1 789  to  visit  the  dungeons,  for  there 
is  nobody  there.  Prisoners  pay  pretty  high  for  their  board 
and  lodging,1  but  apart  from  the  expense  they  are  not  badly 
fed. 

There  is,  properly  speaking,  no  garrison  in  Paris.  The 
Swiss  in  their  red  uniforms  are  at  Versailles,  and  the  brilliant 
and  faithful  gardes  du  corps  (body-guards)  are  there  too.  The 
Gardes  Francaises  are  intrusted  with  the  maintenance  of 
order  in  the  capital.  Their  regiment  contains  4,878  men. 
All  wear  a  white  uniform  with  blue  trimmings.  This  regi- 
ment is  much  permeated  by  the  new  ideas.  The  officers  are 
all  of  the  purest  blood  of  the  nobility,  and  the  non-commis- 
sioned officers  are  often  of  the  best  bourgeois  families.  The 
soldiers  never  keep  their  family  name.  They  exchange  it  for 
that  of  some  flower,  —  Fair  Rose,  Fine  Tulip,  Mayflower, 
etc.  They  are  in  the  highest  order  as  to  dress  and  equip- 
ments, and  walk  with  a  brisk  step,  twirling  their  mustachios. 
Very  little  can  be  said  for  their  morality,  or,  in  their  love- 
affairs,  for  their  sense  of  honor. 

It  is  in  the  Halles  (or  great  market-places  of  Paris)  that 
the  lower  class  of  the  Parisians  appears  in  all  its  glory.  Let 
us  take  a  look  at  the  Halles.  There  is  the  Butter  Halle, 

1  The  king  made  handsome  allowance  for  their  subsistence,  but 
this,  for  the  most  part,  seems  to  have  gone  into  the  pockets  of  the 
governor,  M.  de  Launay.  —  E.  W.  L. 


142  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION-. 

the  Fish  Halle,  the  Marchd  des  Proubaines,  the  market  for 
green-stuff,  and  the  potato  market  under  a  large  shed ;  and 
the  flower-market,  covering  in  all  nearly  ten  thousand  square 
yards.  There  is  nothing  to  shelter  the  provisions  from  the 
inclemency  of  the  weather,  except  immense  red  umbrellas. 
The  market-women  (dames  de  la  Halle)  have  all  sorts  of 
privileges.  They  wait  on  the  queen  with  their  congratula- 
tions when  she  becomes  a  mother,  and  on  the  king  when  he 
begins  his  reign ;  they  figure  in  many  Parisian  ceremonies 
(as  they  continue  to  do  even  in  1889),  and  probably  will  to 
the  end  of  the  chapter. 

Sometimes  they  are  very  pretty,  but  rarely  decently  polite. 
Some  boast  that  they  have  belonged  to  the  Halles,  mother 
and  daughter,  since  the  time  of  Saint  Louis.  They  have 
an  especial  vocabulary  called  the  dictionnaire  poissard. 
Their  abuse  is  occasionally  sublime.  Alliteration  plays  a 
great  part  in  their  invectives.  Let  us  go  up  to  one  of  them. 
There  is  a  great  smell  of  codfish.  Housekeepers,  grisettes, 
soldiers,  and  well-dressed  men  are  swarming  round  the  fish- 
stalls.  A  young  girl  timidly  comes  up  to  a  stout,  red-faced 
woman. 

"  Madame,  how  much  do  you  ask  for  this  eel?  " 

"  One  livre  for  you,  my  Venus  of  love." 

"  No ;  ten  sous." 

"  Ten  sous  !  Do  you  suppose  I  stole  it  ?  Get  home 
with  you  !  I  wish  the  boys  were  out  of  school !  I  'd  make 
them  run  after  you,  you  baggage !  .  .  .  Ah,  well,  my 
little  love,  you  may  have  it,  after  all,  for  ten  sous." 

The  sound  of  a  violin  is  heard.  A  man  is  singing  in  the 
street.  What  does  he  sing?  You  might  guess  beforehand. 

"  La  boulangere,  d'ou  viens-tu  ? 

J'arrivons  de  1'Autriche, 
Si  je  n'avions  que  ma  virtu, 
Je  ne  serions  pas  ben  riche,  vois-tu, 

Je  ne  serions  pas  ben  riche  I  " 

And,  lastly,  as  to  the  police.  The  lieutenant  of  police  is 
as  powerful  as  a  minister  of  state,  indeed,  more  so.  His 
secret  influence  is  almost  boundless.  He  can  hush  up  any 


ON  THE  EVE  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.          143 

matter  he  may  please.  He  can  put  any  obnoxious  person 
quietly  out  of  the  way.  There  are  about  three  hundred 
agents  called  mouchards,  who  serve  under  him.  It  is  no 
longer  the  custom  to  beat  the  watch  ;  but  the  security  of  the 
capital,  especially  during  the  hours  of  darkness,  leaves  much 
to  be  desired.  Professional  thieves  are  numerous  in  propor- 
tion to  the  population.  It  is  not  prudent  to  walk  abroad 
after  nine  o'clock  in  the  neighborhood  of  Notre  Dame,  in 
the  Champs  Elys^es,  or  even  on  the  Boulevard. 


BOOK    III. 

THE   COLLAPSE  OF   FRENCH   ROYALTY. 

I.  THE  FLIGHT  TO  VARENNES. 
II.   COUNT  AXEL  FERSEN. 

III.  THE  TENTH  OF  AUGUST  AND  THE  MASSACRES  OF  SEPTEMBER. 

IV.  THE  PRINCESSE  DE  LAMBALLE. 
V.   LAST  HOURS  OF  THE  KING. 

VI.   MARIE  ANTOINETTE  AND  ROBESPIERRE. 
VII.   CLOSING  SCENES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   FLIGHT  TO   VARENNES.1 

HP  HE  most  interesting  chapter  in  Carlyle's  prose  epic,  the 
*•  "  History  of  the  French  Revolution,"  is  the  one  that 
records  the  story  of  the  Flight  to  Varennes.  But  of  late 
years  memoirs,  journals,  and  public  documents  bearing  on 
the  subject  have  been  brought  to  light,  which  correct  some 
errors  in  Mr.  Carlyle's  narrative.  These  are  especially  the 
memoirs  of  Madame  de  Tourzel  (1883)  and  the  Diary  and 
Letters  of  Count  Fersen  (1877). 

The  Flight  to  Varennes  was  not  merely  a  picturesque  and 
thrilling  episode  in  the  French  Revolution,  it  was  also  a 
great  crisis  in  European  history.  Europe  at  this  time  was 
in  dread  of  the  approach  of  Jacobinism.  The  Emigres  were 
beseeching  every  court,  not  only  to  deliver  their  sovereign 
from  the  durance  in  which  he  was  placed,  but  to  stamp  out 
a  fire  which  endangered  their  own  security.  The  Comte 
d'Artois  had  formed  a  plan  by  which  France  was  to  be  in- 
vaded from  several  sides  at  once,  —  from  the  South  by  Spain, 
from  the  East  by  Savoy,  from  the  North  by  the  Austrians. 
1  Abridged  from  an  article  in  the  "  London  Quarterly  Review,"  1886. 


THE  FLIGHT  TO    VARENNES.  145 

The  centre  of  this  combination  was  the  Emperor  Leopold 
II.,  who  had  recently  succeeded  his  brother  Joseph  as  sover- 
eign of  Austria. 

The  position  of  the  Emperor  Leopold  was  an  exceedingly 
difficult  one.  The  proposed  scheme  of  invasion  depended 
on  the  successful  escape  of  the  king  and  his  family  from 
Paris,  which  would  have  secured  the  sympathies  of  all 
Europe,  but  there  was  great  danger  to  Austria,  surrounded 
as  she  was  by  enemies,  should  she  act  alone. 

The  king  was  to  go  to  Montmedy,  but  he  was  not  to 
stop  there.  A  camp  was  to  be  formed  round  the  old 
chateau  of  Thouelle  in  the  neighborhood.  Bouille's  faithful 
German  regiments  were  to  be  joined  by  a  number  of  tmigrfc  ; 
but,  above  all,  ten  thousand  Austrian  troops  were  to  be 
massed  upon  the  frontier  a  few  miles  from  Thouelle.  Once 
out  of  Paris,  the  king  would  be  a  free  agent.  He  would 
dissolve  the  Assembly,  restore,  the  clergy  to  their  posses- 
sions, and  by  thus  destroying  the  basis  on  which  the  value 
of  the  assignats  rested  (assignats  were  the  government's 
promises  to  pay  out  of  the  sale  of  the  confiscated  estates  of 
the  nobles  and  the  clergy),  he  would  cause  a  bankruptcy  in 
France,  and  deprive  his  rebellious  subjects  of  their  sources 
of  credit.  Escape  would  be  the  potent  engine  of  a  counter- 
revolution. 

The  flight  of  the  king  from  Paris  had  long  been  planned 
and  discussed,  but  it  did  not  assume  a  definite  shape  until 
after  April  18,  1791.  On  May  29,  the  date  of  departure 
was  fixed  for  June  12  ;  but  a  democratic  waiting-maid  of 
the  dauphin  did  not  leave  her  service  till  the  nth.  Sunday 
evening,  June  19,  was  next  agreed  upon ;  but  at  the  last 
moment  another  waiting-maid  of  the  dauphin  who  could 
not  be  trusted  caused  the  delay  of  another  day. 

The  most  active  agent  in  preparations  for  the  flight  was 
Count  Axel  Fersen,  commander  of  the  Royal  Swedish  Regi- 
ment in  the  king's  service,  and  an  intimate  friend  of  the  king 
and  queen.  On  the  afternoon  of  Monday,  June  20,  he 
paid  a  last  visit  to  the  royal  family  at  the  Tuileries.  He 
found  them  resolved  on  departure,  notwithstanding  a  preva- 


146  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

lent  rumor  that  their  plans  for  flight  had  been  discovered. 
They  were  both  deeply  affected.  The  king  said  to  the 
count,  in  taking  leave  of  him,  that  he  could  never  forget  all 
he  had  done  for  him.  The  queen  wept  bitterly.  To  avoid 
suspicion,  she  drove  out  with  her  children  to  the  gardens 
called  Tivoli,  and  told  her  daughter  while  there  that  she 
must  practice  discretion,  and  not  be  surprised  at  anything 
she  might  see  or  hear.  Fersen  then  returned  to  his  own 
house  to  make  his  final  preparations ;  he  visited  the  hotel  of 
Mr.  Quentin  Crauford  in  the  Rue  de  Clichy,  to  see  whether 
the  new  berline,  built  for  the  king's  journey,  had  arrived 
from  the  coachmaker's.  At  eight  o'clock  he  went  again  to 
the  Tuileries  with  a  letter  to  the  queen,  informing  her  of  a 
slight  change  in  the  arrangement  made  for  the  waiting-maids. 
As  he  took  the  letter  to  the  Tuileries,  everything  seemed 
quiet.  At  a  quarter  to  nine  the  three  body-guards  who 
were  to  act  as  outriders  for  the  royal  party,  came  to  Fersen 
for  instructions.  He  then  sent  off  a  chaise,  which  was  to 
convey  the  two  waiting-maids  to  Claye,  gave  his  last  orders 
to  his  coachman,  Balthasar  Sapel,  and  then  mounted  the 
box  of  the  hackney-coach  in  which  he  was  to  drive  the 
royal  family  to  the  barrier. 

The  queen  returned  from  her  drive  to  Tivoli  at  seven 
o'clock.  She  then  submitted  herself  to  one  of  those  elabo- 
rate feats  of  hair-dressing  which  excite  our  wonder  in  the 
portraits  of  the  time.  This  process  lasted  more  than  an  hour, 
and  she  then  had  an  interview  with  the  three  body-guards 
who  were  to  accompany  her  in  her  flight.  Passing  to  her 
drawing-room,  she  found  the  Comte  de  Provence,  who  had 
just  taken  an  affecting  leave  of  his  sister  Elisabeth.  He  had 
come  with  his  wife  to  supper,  as  was  their  custom  every  • 
evening.  The  supper  was  served  at  nine,  and  lasted  nearly 
two  hours.  Monsieur  and  his  wife  were  to  leave  Paris  that 
night  by  different  roads.  They  did  not  know  whether  they 
should  join  the  king  at  Montmedy,  or  should  ever  see  him 
again.  The  brothers  indeed  then  met  for  the  last  time. 
Monsieur  left  the  Tuileries,  never  to  re-enter  it  until  he  did 
so  as  Louis  XVIII.  in  1814.  After  supper  the  queen  dis- 


II 


DUCHESSE  D^ANGOULEME  AND  THE  DAUPHIN 


THE  FLIGHT  TO    VARENNES.  147 

missed  her  servants  as  soon  as  possible.  She  then  went  to 
bed,  or  appeared  to  do  so,  and  the  attendant  shut  the  door 
of  the  passage  leading  to  her  room.  The  dauphin,  on  re- 
turning home  from  Tivoli,  had  eaten  his  supper  and  had 
been  put  to  bed  at  nine  o'clock.  Madame  (his  young  sister) 
had  given  orders  to  be  called  at  eight  o'clock.  About  eleven 
at  night  the  queen  knocked  at  the  door  of  her  son's  chamber. 
He  was  fast  asleep  ;  but  when  she  told  him  he  was  to  go  to  a 
fortress  where  he  would  command  his  regiment,  he  threw 
himself  out  of  bed  and  cried,  "  Quick !  quick !  give  me  a 
sword  and  my  boots,  and  let  me  be  off!  "  He  was  dressed 
like  a  little  girl,  in  a  costume  which  Madame  de  Tourzel  had 
already  provided.  His  sister,  who  had  been  awakened  earlier, 
wore  a  cheap  dress  of  muslin  which  had  been  bought  a  few 
days  before  for  about  three  quarters  of  a  dollar.  A  piece  of 
it  still  exists  in  Orleans.  The  two  children,  with  their  gov- 
erness and  the  two  waiting-maids,  met  in  one  of  the  queen's 
apartments.  The  queen  looked  out  into  the  courtyard  and 
saw  that  everything  was  quiet.  The  hackney-coach  was 
standing  close  by  a  door  in  the  furthest  corner,  through  which 
the  royal  family  were  to  make  their  escape.  Fersen,  who 
had  made  every  preparation  with  skill  and  rapidity,  sat, 
dressed  like  a  coachman,  on  the  box.  This  door  led  from 
the  apartments  of  a  noble  who  had  emigrated,  and  was  left 
unguarded.  The  queen  solemnly  intrusted  her  children  to 
Madame  de  Tourzel,  who  with  her  charge  passed  through 
dark  passages  to  the  unlocked  door,  and  then  out  into  the 
court.  Fersen  lifted  the  children  into  the  coach,  handed  in 
Madame  de  Tourzel,  and  drove  off.  A  short  time  afterwards 
the  two  waiting-maids  were  sent  down  another  staircase  ;  a 
cabriolet  was  waiting  for  them  on  the  other  side  of  the  Pont 
Royal,  and  they  drove  off  to  Claye. 

Fersen,  knowing  that  the  king,  queen,  and  Madame 
Elisabeth  could  not  arrive  immediately,  took  a  turn  round 
the  Quais,  and  then  came  back  by  the  Rue  St.  Honor£  to 
the  Petit  Carrousel.  He  waited  three  quarters  of  an  hour, 
but  no  one  came.  Lafayette's  carriage,  guarded  by  dra- 
goons, drove  by  with  flashing  lights.  Lafayette  was  on  his 


148  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

way  to  the  eouchcr  of  the  king,  whom  lie  held  a  long  time  in 
conversation,  for  grave  suspicions  of  flight  that  night  had  been 
aroused.  The  guards  had  been  doubled ;  every  one  was  on 
the  alert. 

Lafayette  at  last  drove  away.  The  king  was  seen  to  bed 
by  the  servant  who  had  charge  of  the  rooms.  The  doors  of 
the  great  gallery  were  locked  by  the  porter  in  attendance, 
and  the  keys  were  placed  in  his  mattress,  where  they  were 
found  the  next  morning.  As  soon  as  the  king  was  left  alone, 
he  got  up  and  dressed  himself  for  the  flight. 

After  the  hackney-coach  had  been  waiting  in  the  Carrousel 
three  quarters  of  an  hour,  a  lady  was  seen  approaching  it. 
She  was  Madame  Elisabeth.  Her  attendant  had  left  her 
when  within  sight  of  the  carriage.  Not  long  after  came  the 
king.  He  told  Madame  de  Tourzel  he  had  left  the  Tuileries 
by  the  great  gate,  and  that  his  shoe-buckle  having  become 
loose  he  had  stopped  to  arrange  it  with  all  the  coolness  in 
the  world.  They  waited  for  the  queen  some  little  time,  and 
it  was  probably  then  that  Lafayette's  carriage  passed  a  second 
time,  and  the  king  could  not  repress  an  insulting  exclamation 
as  it  flashed  by  him.  He  looked  upon  Lafayette  as  his 
jailer.  The  story  of  the  queen  losing  herself  in  the  Rue  de 
Bac  is  apocryphal ;  but  on  leaving  the  palace  she  found  a 
sentinel  posted  at  the  top  of  the  staircase  she  was  about  to 
descend,  and  had  to  wait  till  she  could  pass  him.  She  after- 
wards told  Fersen,  on  his  visit  to  Paris  in  the  February 
following,  that,  passing  through  the  Great  Carrousel,  her  con- 
ductor did  not  know  where  to  find  the  Little  Carrousel,  and, 
at  her  suggestion,  asked  a  horse-guard.  When  she  got  into 
the  carriage  the  king  embraced  her,  and  cried,  "  How  glad 
I  am  to  see  you  here  ! " 

Fersen  by  a  roundabout  route  then  drove  to  the  Barrier 
of  Clichy.  The  guard-house  at  the  barrier  was  lighted  up. 
Every  one  was  en  fete.  A  marriage  was  being  celebrated  with 
drinking  and  dancing,  and  the  royal  party  passed  unrecog- 
nized. A  short  distance  beyond  the  gate  they  found  the 
berline,  a  large  travelling  carriage  made  to  hold  six  persons. 
It  was  drawn  by  four  strong  Norman  horses.  Fersen's 


THE  FLIGHT  TO    VARENNES.  149 

coachman,  Balthasar  Sapel,  was  riding  postilion  on  one  of 
them,  and  M.  de  Moustier,  a  tall  body-guard,  was  on  the 
box.  Another  body-guard,  who  had  conducted  the  fugitives 
through  the  Carrousel,  was  on  the  dicky  of  the  hackney- 
coach  ;  while  M.  de  Valory,  the  third,  was  spurring,  on  one 
of  Fersen's  horses,  to  Bondy,  to  order  that  a  relay  of  horses 
might  be  ready  when  the  travellers  arrived. 

The  hackney-coach  was  driven  up  close  to  the  berline. 
The  doors  of  both  were  opened,  and  the  royal  party  stepped 
from  one  to  the  other,  unobserved.  Then  the  hackney-coach, 
having  served  its  purpose,  was  tumbled  into  a  ditch.  Fersen 
mounted  the  box,  and  by  his  side  was  Moustier.  He  re- 
peatedly called  out  to  his  coachman  to  be  quick,  and  not  to 
spare  the  horses.  Balthasar  said  afterwards  that,  thinking  his 
master  might  kill  his  own  horses  if  he  pleased,  he  urged  them 
to  such  speed  that  the  three  leagues,  or  seven  and  a  half  miles, 
between  the  barrier  and  Bondy,  were  made  in  half  an  hour. 
At  any  rate,  they  went  at  a  good  pace.  The  fresh  horses 
ordered  by  Valory  were  waiting  for  them  in  the  road. 

Fersen,  after  begging  earnestly  to  be  allowed  to  accompany 
the  party,  took  an  affectionate  farewell.  Happy  would  it 
have  been  had  the  king  granted  his  request,  and  kept  him 
with  them  !  He  leaped  upon  the  horse  from  which  Valory 
had  dismounted,  and,  travelling  by  cross-roads,  reached 
Belgium  in  safety. 

It  has  been  erroneously  said  that  the  carriage  in  which 
the  royal  family  were  making  their  escape  was  a  lumbering 
coach,  conspicuous  by  its  form  and  splendor.  This  is  quite 
untrue.  It  was  a  sound,  well-built  carriage.  The  bill  of  the 
coachmaker  who  made  it  has  been  preserved.  The  body 
was  painted  black  and  green  ;  the  running  gear,  as  was  usual 
in  those  days,  was  yellow.  It  attracted  no  attention  in  itself; 
and  an  older  carriage  would  probably  have  broken  down 
on  the  road. 

At  Claye  the  waiting  maids  were  overtaken,  and  the  whole 
party  proceeded  in  full  daylight  to  Meaux.  The  king  was 
in  high  spirits.  "  At  last,"  he  said,  "  I  have  escaped  from 
that  town  of  Paris  where  I  have  drunk  so  much  bitterness ; 


150 


THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION: 


be  assured  that,  once  in  the  saddle,  I  shall  be  very  different 
from  what  you  have  seen  me  up  to  the  present  moment." 

He  read  aloud  a  copy  of  the  memorial  he  had  left  behind 
to  be  presented  to  the  Assembly.  He  anticipated  the  happi- 
ness with  which  he  would  endow  France,  the  return  of  his 
brothers  and  of  his  faithful  servants,  and  the  possibility  of 
re-establishing  the  Catholic  religion,  and  repairing  the  evils  of 
which  he  had  been  the  unwilling  cause. 

At  about  eight  in  the  morning  he  looked  at  his  watch  and 
remarked,  "  Lafayette  must  be  in  a  terrible  state  of  mind 
now  ! "  It  has  been  said  that  the  king  walked  up  the  hills, 
"  enjoying  the  blessed  sunshine  "  and  generally  conducting 
himself  imprudently.  But  in  point  of  fact  there  was  no 
sunshine.  The  day  was  dull  and  cloudy.  The  king  only 
left  the  carriage  once  during  the  long  journey  and  then  spoke 
to  no  one. 

The  travellers  were  amply  supplied  with  provisions,  which 
had  been  placed  for  them  in  the  carriage.  The  children 
walked  up  one  or  two  of  the  long  hills,  but  occasioned  no 
delay.  Before  reaching  Chalons  the  horses  fell  twice,  and 
broke  the  harness  ;  this  took  an  hour  to  repair,  and  with  that, 
and  the  delay  at  Paris,  they  reached  Chalons  two  hours  too 
late.  They  had  travelled  more  than  seven  miles  an  hour 
including  stoppages,  and  that,  with  a  heavy  carriage  and  post- 
horses,  was  a  very  good  pace. 

When  the  king  reached  Chalons  he  believed  himself  in 
safety.  At  the  next  post,  called  Pont  Sommevesle,  he  was 
to  find  a  detachment  of  soldiers  from  Bouilld's  army,  and 
thence  similar  detachments  were  to  be  posted  all  along  his 
route  till  he  reached  Montmedy.  But  when  they  reached 
the  lone  post-house  of  Pont  Sommevesle,  not  a  soldier  was  to 
be  seen.  Where  was  Choiseul  ?  Where  were  the  Lauzun 
hussars  that  should  have  been  there  waiting?  The  king  felt 
as  if  an  abyss  had  opened  beneath  his  feet.  The  horses  were 
quickly  changed,  and  the  berline  moved  on,  but  a  heavy 
weight  was  on  the  travellers'  hearts,  —  a  foreboding  of 
calamity. 

It  was  not  the  fault  of  Bouille  that  his  arrangements  mis- 


THE  FLIGHT  TO    VARENNES.  151 

carried;  they  had  been  skilfully  and  carefully  made.  But 
his  subordinates  were  inexperienced  and  harebrained  men. 
Most  of  them  had  not  been  informed  of  the  importance  of 
the  mission  with  which  they  were  charged,  and  believed  that 
they  were  detailed  only  to  escort  a  treasure.  Bouille"  indeed 
was  expecting  money  to  pay  his  troops  about  this  time. 
Troops  had  been  posted  at  Pont  Sommevesle,  at  Clermont, 
at  Ste.  Menehould,  at  Varennes,  at  Stenay,  and  at  Sedan. 
But  all  went  wrong,  owing  in  the  first  instance  to  the  snap- 
ping of  the  first  link  in  the  chain  of  communication. 

M.  de  Goguelat,  an  officer  possessing  the  confidence 
of  the  king  and  queen,  had  been  sent  by  them  to  Bouille"  to 
assist  him  in  making  the  last  arrangements.  The  choice  was 
an  unfortunate  one,  because,  of  all  the  blunderers  in  this  affair, 
none  were  so  bad  as  Goguelat.  He  disobeyed  the  most  im- 
portant orders  that  were  given  him,  and  everything  left  to 
his  discretion  was  badly  done. 

How  was  it  that  the  king  on  arriving  at  the  post-house 
at  Pont  Sommevesle,  where  he  expected  to  find  his  escort, 
found  not  a  soul  to  meet  him? 

The  Due  de  Choiseul,  commander  of  the  royal  dragoons, 
had  been  sent  by  Bouille",  from  Metz,  in  order  to  give  the 
king  the  last  information  about  the  preparations  for  the 
escort.  Fersen  expressed  at  the  time  a  doubt  as  to  whether 
he  was  the  best  instrument  for  the  purpose.  Although 
devoted  to  the  cause  of  the  king,  he  was  frivolous  and  hasty, 
and  had  not  that  spirit  of  calm  patience  and  decision  which 
was  needed  in  the  difficult  crisis.  However,  he  was  very 
rich,  and  of  high  rank,  was  colonel  of  a  distinguished  regi- 
ment, and  was  able  to  furnish  from  his  own  stables  relays 
which  would  be  needed  for  the  royal  party  at  Varennes.  It 
was  arranged  that  Choiseul  should  leave  Paris  ten  hours 
before  the  king.  At  two  in  the  afternoon  the  queen  sent  to 
him  her  private  hair-dresser  Leonard.  Choiseul  took  him 
with  him  in  his  carriage,  without  telling  him  where  he  was 
going.  They  slept  at  Montmirail,  left  that  town  at  four 
the  next  morning,  and  arrived  at  the  post-house  of  Pont 
Sommevesle  soon  after  eleven.  Choiseul  found  his  orderly 


152  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

there  with  two  horses.  The  hussars  had  not  arrived,  but 
they  appeared  an  hour  later.  M.  de  Goguelat,  who  was 
in  command  of  the  party,  found  Choiseul  still  dressing, 
and  delivered  to  him  a  large  packet  of  orders  which  he  had 
received  two  days  before  from  Bouille'.  Choiseul  picketed 
his  horses,  and  gave  bread  and  wine  to  the  hussars.  The 
orders  brought  by  Goguelat  to  Choiseul  were  very  precise. 
Choiseul  was  placed  in  command  of  all  the  troops  posted 
along  the  road,  having  full  liberty  to  employ  force  if  he 
thought  it  best  to  do  so.  If  he  should  hear  that  the  king 
had  been  arrested  at  Chalons,  he  was  to  attack  the  town,  and 
to  attempt  a  rescue.  In  such  a  case  he  was  to  despatch 
orders  all  along  the  line,  so  that  he  might  be  supported. 
When  the  king  arrived  at  Pont  Sommevesle,  it  was  from  him 
that  Choiseul  would  receive  his  orders.  If  the  king  desired 
to  be  recognized,  the  hussars  were  to  escort  him  with  drawn 
swords  to  Ste.  Menehould.  If  the  king  wished  to  remain 
incognito,  he  was  to  allow  him  to  pass  quietly,  and  half  an 
hour  after  was  to  follow  him  along  the  road,  and  was  to  post 
a  body  of  hussars  between  Ste.  Menehould  and  Clermont, 
who  were  to  remain  there  for  fifteen  hours,  and  intercept 
every  one  who  came  by,  either  on  horseback  or  in  a  carriage, 
from  the  direction  of  Paris.  This  would  effectually  prevent 
the  king's  being  pursued.  Further,  as  soon  as  he  was  aware 
of  the  king  being  at  hand,  he  was  to  send  M.  de  Goguelat  to 
inform  the  several  detachments,  or,  if  this  was  impossible,  he 
was  to  carry  the  news  himself.  Choiseul  did  none  of  the 
things  that  were  expected  of  him.  By  some  strange  miscal- 
culation it  had  been  said  that  the  berline  might  be  expected 
to  arrive  at  Pont  Sommevesle  at  half-past  two  in  the  after- 
noon at  latest.  Supposing  that  the  royal  family  left  Paris 
punctually  at  midnight,  this  would  have  allowed  a  pace  of 
eight  miles  an  hour  including  stoppages,  and  without  any 
accidents.  Choiseul  says,  in  a  paper  he  wrote  in  his  defense, 
that  when  three  o'clock  and  four  o'clock  came,  and  the 
courier  who  was  to  precede  the  royal  carriage  had  not 
arrived,  he  became  very  anxious,  especially  as  the  inhabitants 
of  a  neighboring  village,  believing  that  the  soldiers  had  come 


THE  FLIGHT  TO    VARENNES.  153 

to  make  them  pay  their  rents,  were  assuming  a  threatening 
attitude.  At  four  o'clock  he  sent  off  Leonard,  the  hair- 
dresser, in  his  own  post-chaise  to  inform  the  detachments 
posted  on  the  road  that  the  party  expected  had  not  arrived, 
and  that  the  scheme  had  probably  collapsed.  He  waited 
with  his  hussars,  he  says,  till  half-past  five,  or  a  quarter  to  six, 
and  then  retreated,  not  by  the  highway,  but  by  cross-roads  to 
Orbeval.  When  the  king  reached  Pont  Sommevesle  at  half- 
past  six,  he  found  no  one  there  to  give  him  news  of  the  party 
of  hussars,  and  no  sign  of  any  disturbance  among  the 
neighboring  peasantry. 

Choiseul's  neglect  to  wait  for  Valory,  whether  preceding 
the  king  or  not,  was  inexcusable.  He  knew  Valory  to  have 
orders  if  the  king  failed  to  reach  Bondy  to  ride  on  and  inform 
the  detachments  that  the  enterprise  had  failed. 

When  Valory  reached  Pont  Sommevesle  and  found  no 
soldiers,  he  asked  no  questions  even  of  the  post-master, 
but,  ordering  fresh  horses  to  be  ready  for  the  carriage,  rode 
on  to  Ste.  Menehould,  the  next  post  town. 

At  Ste.  Menehould  all  was  confusion  .and  uncertainty. 
Leonard  had  passed  through  with  news  that  the  treasure 
would  probably  not  arrive  that  day ;  and  Captain  d'Andoins, 
the  officer  in  command,  in  spite  of  the  remonstrances  of 
Lagache,  one  of  his  non-commissioned  officers,  who  appears 
to  have  been  in  the  secret,  ordered  his  troopers'  horses  to 
be  unsaddled  and  his  men  dispersed.  Half  an  hour  after 
this  had  been  done,  Valory  galloped  up,  and  twenty  minutes 
later  came  the  berline. 

The  town  by  this  time  was  in  great  excitement.  Knots 
of  people  had  gathered  in  the  streets.  Something  was  on 
foot,  they  knew  not  what ;  and  a  formal  request  was  made 
to  the  mayor  to  issue  arms  to  the  new  National  Guard 
which  had  been  already  enrolled. 

As  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  post-house  it  excited  much 
attention.  Captain  d'Andoins  kept  in  the  background,  but 
contrived  to  whisper  to  those  in  the  carriage  :  "  Your  plans 
have  miscarried.  To  avoid  suspicion  I  will  go  away."  He 
also  made  a  sign  to  Valory  to  harness  quickly ;  but  Valory 


154 


THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 


interpreted  this  as  a  wish  to  speak  to  him,  and  their  con- 
versation roused  the  attention  of  the  crowd.  Just  as  the 
fresh  horses  were  being  harnessed,  J.  B.  Drouet,  the  post- 
master, arrived  from  a  field  he  had  been  cultivating  in  the 
neighborhood.  He  was  a  young  man  of  twenty-eight,  but 
he  had  served  in  the  Cond6  dragoons,  and  had  seen  the 
queen  at  Versailles.  He  now  thought  he  recognized  her. 
At  this  moment  the  king  put  his  head  out  of  the  window  to 
speak  to  Valory,  and  Drouet,  by  a  sudden  inspiration,  com- 
pared the  portrait  on  the  assignat  which  Valory  had  just 
paid  him  for  the  relay  with  the  head  of  the  traveller.  He 
noticed  the  long  aquiline  nose,  the  short-sighted  look,  the 
spotted  complexion ;  and  when  a  message  from  the  town 
council  came  to  ask  his  opinion,  he  had  no  doubt  that  the 
berline  contained  the  king  and  his  family.  Indeed,  the 
recognition  of  the  king  seems  to  have  been  made  simul- 
tane&usly  by  many  of  the  loiterers.  Suspicion  ran  from 
mouth  to  mouth.  The  crowd  seemed  determined  to  molest 
the  travellers.  Lagache,  resolved  that  one  soldier  at  least 
should  do  his  duty  and  follow  his  sovereign,  clutched  his 
reins  in  his  teeth,  and  with  a  pistol  in  each  hand  broke 
through  the  crowd,  firing  a  shot  as  he  passed  out  of  the  town. 
He  followed  the  berline  towards  Clermont,  but,  with  the 
fatality  which  accompanied  every  incident  in  the  flight, 
he  went  astray  in  a  wood,  and  did  not  reach  Clermont  till 
eleven  at  night,  when  the  king  was  already  a  prisoner  at 
Varennes.  After  the  berline  had  passed,  D'Andoins  tried 
to  assemble  and  mount  his  dragoons,  but  was  prevented 
by  the  populace,  who  forced  the  soldiers  to  surrender  to 
the  mayor. 

Drouet,  accompanied  by  three  other  citizens  of  Ste.  Mene- 
hould,  set  off  at  once  to  spread  their  news.  As  they  galloped 
out  of  the  Chalons  gate,  the  newly  armed  National  Guard, 
mistaking  them  for  soldiers,  fired  on  them.  One  was  killed, 
another  dangerously  wounded.  Then  a  cry  arose,  "  To 
arms !  "  The  tocsin  was  sounded.  All  the  town  was  on  the 
alert. 

Meantime   the    king  was   passing    through    a    beautiful 


THE  FLIGHT  TO    VARENNES.  155 

country  along  the  banks  of  the  river  Aire.  A  narrow  bridge, 
after  passing  through  the  town  of  Varennes,  crosses  that  river ; 
and  beyond  the  bridge  was  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Monarque, 
where  fresh  horses  were  waiting  for  the  travellers.  There 
was  no  one  to  tell  them  this.  It  had  been  at  first  arranged 
that  horses  should  be  ready  for  them  before  entering  the 
town  on  the  road  from  Clermont ;  but  Goguelat,  at  the  last 
moment,  had  altered  this  arrangement,  and  neglected  to 
give  notice  to  the  travellers. 

Varennes  was  not  a  post  town.  Travellers  usually  took 
another  road  to  Verdun.  Varennes  was  a  peaceful  little 
place  ;  its  inhabitants  were  that  day  engaged  in  preparing 
for  a  fete,  when  the  hair-dresser  Le'onard  rode  in  with  his 
message  to  the  troops  of  failure  and  despair.  The  horses 
waiting  for  the  berline  at  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Monarque 
were  Choiseul's  private  property.  Leonard  tried  to  get 
them  for  his  carriage,  but  was  refused.  He,  however,  pro- 
cured others.  Had  he  continued  on  the  road  to  Montmedy, 
he  would  have  met  Bouille,  and  perhaps  have  induced  him 
to  advance  and  see  what  was  the  matter ;  but,  stricken  with 
the  common  fatality,  he  took  the  road  to  Verdun.  Having 
done  all  the  mischief  he  could  by  his  journey  on  the  king's 
route,  he  now  discontinued  it  at  the  very  moment  when  he 
might  have  been  of  use. 

The  travelling  carriage  stopped  at  the  entrance  of  the 
town  of  Varennes,  where  they  expected  to  find  horses  wait- 
ing for  them.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen.  Every  house  was 
in  repose.  In  vain  the  king  knocked  at  a  door ;  he  was 
angrily  told  to  go  away.  The  three  body-guards  went  off 
to  look  for  the  expected  horses.  The  queen  roused  up 
a  gentleman,  M.  de  Prefontaine ;  but  he  had  been  ill,  and 
could  give  her  no  information. 

At  this  moment  two  riders,  Drouet  and  a  friend,  spurred 
past  the  carriage,  crying  out  to  the  postilions  :  "  Don't  go 
on.  Unharness  your  horses.  Your  passenger  is  the  king !  " 

Valory,  after  a  fruitless  search  for  the  relay  of  Choiseul's 
horses,  came  back  to  the  king,  who  met  him  with  the 
words,  "We  are  betrayed!"  Their  only  course  was  to 


156  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

hurry  forward,  but  the  postilions  refused  to  go  on ;  they 
said  that  their  mistress  had  charged  them  to  go  no  further 
than  the  entrance  to  Varennes,  because  they  were  wanted 
for  the  hay  harvest  the  next  day.  It  is  said  that  this  woman 
never  forgave  herself  for  having  thus  caused  the  deaths 
of  the  king  and  queen.  At  last  the  body-guards,  by 
threatening  violence,  induced  the  postilions  to  remount 
and  take  the  carriage  into  Varennes.  But  thirty-five  minutes 
had  been  lost.  Drouet  had  the  start  of  them,  and  it  was 
too  late. 

Drouet  pulled  up  at  the  Bras  d'Or  tavern,  where,  though 
the  time  was  nearly  eleven,  a  few  young  men  still  lingered. 
Drouet  entered  in  haste,  drew  the  landlord  aside,  and  told 
the  news,  enjoining  him  at  once  to  rouse  all  trustworthy 
people,  who  must  see  to  it  that  the  king  was  arrested.  The 
landlord  called  up  his  opposite  neighbor,  the  mayor,  M. 
Sauce,  while  Drouet  went  to  barricade  the  bridge  which 
united  the  two  parts  of  the  town.  All  this  while  two 
captains  of  dragoons,  Charles  Bouille  and  Raigecourt,  were 
sitting  at  the  window  of  their  hotel,  doing  nothing.  They 
heard  a  little  movement  in  the  town,  but  paid  it  no  attention. 
Sauce  sent  his  little  children  to  rouse  people  from  their 
beds.  Seven  young  men  armed,  prepared  to  stop  the 
carriage.  The  postchaise  with  the  two  chamber-maids 
carne  first.  They  were  asked  for  their  passport,  and  on 
their  saying  it  was  in  the  second  carriage  were  suffered  to 
pass  on.  The  occupants  of  the  berline  told  the  party  who 
detained  and  questioned  them,  that  they  were  on  their 
way  to  Frankfort.  Sauce  held  up  a  lantern,  and  scruti- 
nized the  faces  of  the  travellers.  At  last  the  passport 
was  delivered  to  him.  He  remarked  that  it  was  signed 
by  the  king,  but  not  by  the  President  of  the  National 
Assembly,  and  that  in  consequence  of  this  irregularity  he 
must  detain  the  travellers  till  the  matter  could  be  looked 
into ;  and  when  the  postilions  attempted  to  proceed,  they 
were  stopped  by  armed  men,  who  cried,  "If  you  go 
a  step  further,  we  fire  ! "  Nothing  was  left  for  the  royal 
family  but  to  get  out  of  their  carriage. 


THE  FLIGHT  TO    VARENNES.  157 

M.  Sauce  offered  them  the  hospitality  of  his  house.  On 
the  ground-floor  was  a  grocer's  shop,  with  a  strong  smell  of 
tallow,  particularly  disagreeable  to  the  queen.  The  upper 
story  was  reached  by  a  narrow  corkscrew  staircase,  unchanged 
to  the  present  day.  On  the  upper  floor  there  were  two 
rooms,  one  looking  on  the  street,  the  other  on  the  courtyard. 
In  the  back  room,  about  fifteen  feet  by  twenty,  was  collected 
the  majesty  of  France.  The  king  seated  himself  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room  in  an  armchair ;  the  queen  asked  for  some 
hot  water,  wine,  and  clean  sheets,  probably  for  the  children. 
The  dauphin  and  his  sister  were  placed  upon  a  bed  and 
were  soon  asleep,  with  Madame  de  Tourzel  seated  at  their 
side.  The  body-guards  sat  on  a  bench  beneath  the  window. 
It  is  incredible  that  the  king  should  not  have  been  rescued 
at  this  moment.  Sixty  hussars  were  in  their  barracks  at  a 
short  distance  from  the  bridge,  with  their  horses  saddled, 
ready  to  start  at  any  moment ;  that  they  were  useless  in  this 
crisis  was  owing  to  Goguelat's  errors.  By  some  strange  in- 
fatuation he  had  sent  their  own  commander,  D'Eslon,  off  to 
Bouille,  where  he  could  be  of  no  use,  and  left  his  men  in 
charge  of  a  young  lieutenant  of  eighteen,  Rohrig  by  name, 
who  lost  his  head  and  did  nothing.  As  soon  as  he  found 
himself  in  difficulty,  he  crossed  the  river  by  a  ford  and  gal- 
loped off  to  Bouille.  Charles  Bouille  and  Raigecourt  did  the 
same.  By  this  time  the  whole  town  of  Varennes  was  on  foot. 
Barricades  were  built  across  all  the  streets  leading  to  the 
country.  Two  or  three  pieces  of  ordnance,  which  were  rust- 
ing in  the  stables  of  the  old  town  hall,  were  dragged  forth 
and  placed  partly  on  the  bridge  and  partly  on  the  entrance 
of  the  road  from  Clermont. 

Meantime,  about  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  arrived 
Choiseul  with  his  forty  dragoons,  —  the  body  who  should 
have  waited  at  Pont  Sommevesle.  They  were  halted  by  a 
barricade  and  the  two  old  pieces  of  cannon  ;  but  a  few 
dragoons  under  Damas  reaching  the  spot  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, they  pushed  easily  through  the  barricade  and  entered 
the  town.  Choiseul  marched  straight  down  the  street,  not 
stopping  at  the  house  where  the  royal  party  were  prisoners, 


158  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

till  he  reached  the  hussar  barracks,  which  he  found  deserted, 
the  hussars  and  their  young  commander  having  crossed  the 
ford  and  galloped  off  to  Bouille'. 

Choiseul  drew  up  his  soldiers,  who  were  Germans,  and 
told  them  that  the  king  and  queen  were  prisoners  in  the 
town,  and  they  must  rescue  them.  His  words  were  re- 
sponded to  by  a  shout  of  "  Der  Konig  !  Die  Konigin  !  " 
He  trotted  his  troops  back  to  Sauce's  house,  and  was  there 
joined  by  Damas,  who  had  just  learned  that  the  fugitive 
hussars  had  even  carried  off  Choiseul's  horses  intended  for 
a  relay.  At  this  moment  very  slight  firmness  on  the  soldiers' 
part  or  that  of  their  commander  would  have  saved  the  king ; 
but  there  was  the  usual  hesitation  and  delay. 

In  the  house  the  king  had  acknowledged  himself.  Some 
of  those  around  him  were  moved  to  tears,  and  Sauce  was 
almost  ready  to  give  way.  Outside,  however,  was  a  surging 
crowd,  kept  up  to  their  purpose  by  Drouet.  The  king  as- 
sured all  those  who  heard  him  that  he  had  no  intention  of 
leaving  France,  —  he  was  not  going  beyond  the  frontier. 
A  voice  cried,  "  Sire,  we  don't  believe  you  !  "  The  queen 
did  her  best  to  touch  the  hearts  of  Madame  Sauce  and 
Sauce's  mother,  to  induce  them  to  persuade  Sauce  to  let 
the  party  proceed.  Old  Madame  Sauce,  an  old  woman  of 
eighty,  fell  down  upon  her  knees  bursting  into  tears,  and 
kissed  the  hands  of  the  children. 

When  Goguelat  entered  the  room,  Louis  said  to  him, 
"  Well,  when  shall  we  set  off?  "  He  answered,  "  Sire,  we 
wait  your  orders."  Damas  suggested  placing  the  whole  party 
on  seven  horses  belonging  to  the  hussars,  and  carrying  them 
off,  guarded  by  the  remainder  of  that  body.  But  Louis  feared 
a  stray  ball  might  kill  one  of  them.  It  would  have  been 
far  easier  to  have  cleared  the  road  by  a  charge,  and  then  to 
have  driven  off  in  the  berline.  But  at  last  the  fatal  decision 
was  taken  of  waiting  for  Bouille'. 

Meantime,  by  four  o'clock,  ten  thousand  peasants  from 
the  neighboring  towns  and  villages  had  reached  Varennes. 
The  barricades  were  strengthened,  and  the  hussars  before 
Sauce's  house  found  themselves  between  two  fires.  Goguelat 


THE  FLIGHT  TO    VARENNES.  159 

at  this  time  was  wounded  by  a  pistol-shot  in  an  altercation 
with  a  National  Guard.  This  shot  might  have  been  the  sig- 
nal for  a  massacre  ;  but  the  hussars,  instead  of  attacking  the 
crowd,  fraternized  with  them.  Jars  of  wine  were  passed  from 
trooper  to  trooper ;  soon  the  soldiers  were  half  drunk,  and 
calling,  "  Vive  la  nation  !  " 

As  the  sun  rose  over  the  lovely  valley  of  the  Aire,  Sauce 
asked  the  king  to  show  himself  to  the  crowd  from  the  win- 
dow which  overlooked  the  street ;  Louis  saw  a  dense  mass 
of  peasants  armed  with  muskets,  scythes,  and  pitchforks,  and 
some  women  staggering,  fcalf  tipsy,  among  the  crowd.  As 
he  stood  at  the  window  there  was  a  deep  silence ;  and  when 
he  told  those  who  could  hear  him  that  he  was  going  to 
Montmedy,  but  that  he  would  afterwards  return  to  Varennes, 
there  was  a  thunder  of  applause,  and  reiterated  cries  of 
"Vive  le  roi ! "  "Vive  la  nation!" 

At  five  in  the  morning  an  officer  of  hussars  burst  into  the 
room  where  the  royal  family  was  assembled,  with  a  bare 
sword.  It  was  Captain  d'Eslon,  who  had  commanded  the 
one  hundred  hussars  left  at  Varennes,  who  had  been  sent  off 
to  Bouille  by  the  blundering  of  Goguelat.  On  hearing  news 
of  what  had  happened  from  Rohrig,  D'Eslon  instantly,  with 
seventy  of  his  men,  galloped  back  to  Varennes.  He  was 
stopped  at  the  bridge,  and,  having  little  ammunition  with 
him,  he  dared  not  charge,  but  after  a  parley  was  permitted 
to  enter  the  town  on  foot,  and,  presenting  himself  to  the 
king,  asked  for  orders.  The  king  replied  he  was  a  prisoner, 
and  had  no  orders  to  give  him. 

Time  was  running  on.  The  town  officials  were  deliberating 
what  they  should  do  about  the  king's  departure,  when  two 
messengers  from  the  National  Assembly  arrived.  One  of 
them  was  M.  de  Romeuf,  Lafayette's  aide-de-camp,  who  was 
intimately  known  to  the  king  and  queen.  The  latter,  when 
she  saw  him,  cried,  "Sir!  is  that  you?  I  never  could 
have  believed  it !  "  It  is  indeed  possible  that  had  Romeuf 
been  alone  he  might  have  given  the  royal  family  an  oppor- 
tunity to  escape ;  but  he  handed  to  the  queen  a  decree  of 
the  Assembly  which  ordered  the  return  of  the  royal  family 


l6o  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

to  Paris.  Louis  read  it  over  the  queen's  shoulder  and  said, 
"There  is  no  longer  a  king  in  France."  The  queen  was 
less  calm.  "  What  insolence  !  "  she  cried  ;  and  seeing  that 
the  paper  had  fallen  on  the  dauphin's  bed,  she  seized  it  and 
threw  it  on  the  ground,  saying  it  should  not  sully  the  couch 
of  her  son. 

After  this,  the  only  chance  for  the  king  was  to  gain  time 
for  Bouilld  to  arrive.  The  deputies  and  the  people  were 
eager  he  should  set  out  instantly  for  Paris.  Louis  suppli- 
cated for  delay.  "  Could  they  not  wait  until  eleven  o'clock  ?  " 
A  hasty  breakfast  was  served  for  ^hem.  The  two  children 
were  still  asleep,  and  the  king  dropped  to  sleep  also.  As  a 
last  resource,  one  of  the  waiting-maids  (Madame  de  Neuville) 
declared  herself  to  be  seized  with  a  violent  attack  of  illness. 
The  king  refused  to  desert  her,  and  a  doctor  was  sent  for. 
But  all  these  stratagems  produced  only  an  hour  and  a  half's 
delay,  and  Bouille"  and  his  soldiers  did  not  appear.  The 
shouts  of  the  impatient  mob  surged  upward  from  the  street. 
The  carriages  had  been  harnessed  and  brought  up  to  Sauce's 
door ;  the  royal  family  slowly  and  sadly  descended  the 
winding  staircase.  The  king  walked  first,  and  was  followed 
by  Madame  de  Tourzel  and  the  two  children  ;  Choiseul 
gave  his  arm  to  the  queen,  Damas  to  Madame  Elisabeth  ; 
the  body-guards  were  placed  on  the  box,  guarded  by  two 
grenadiers  with  bayonets  fixed  in  their  muskets.  When  the 
royal  family  had  entered  the  carriage,  Choiseul,  who  had 
been  the  chief  cause  of  their  calamity,  closed  the  door. 

It  was  half-past  seven  in  the  morning.  What  had  caused 
the  delay  of  Bouille"  ?  The  king  had  only  left  Varennes  one 
quarter  of  an  hour  when  a  detachment  of  the  Royal  Alle- 
mand  regiment  appeared  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  com- 
manded by  the  Marquis  de  Bouille  in  person.  The  bridge 
being  defended,  he  tried  to  cross  the  river  by  a  ford,  but  got 
entangled  in  a  mill-race.  The  marquis  had  spent  the  night  on 
the  road  between  Varennes  and  Dun,  the  next  town,  sleeping 
by  the  wayside,  with  the  bridle  of  his  horse  over  his  arm, 
but  before  news  of  the  king's  capture  reached  him  he  had 
left  his  post  and  returned  to  Stenay.  As  soon  as  he  heard 


THE  FLIGHT  TO    VARENNES.  l6l 

it,  he  lost  no  time  in  giving  his  orders,  but  they  were  slowly 
obeyed.  Though  the  horses  had  been  saddled  all  night,  the 
detachment  was  not  rqady  to  set  out  till  five.  With  a  few 
stirring  words  to  his  soldiers  concerning  the  capture  of  their 
king,  Bouill£  placed  himself  at  their  head,  distributing  among 
them  four  hundred  louis  by  way  of  encouragement.  They 
rode  quickly,  but  when  they  reached  Varennes,  the  king  was 
well  on  the  road  to  Clermont.  Even  then  Bouilte  would 
have  charged  had  there  been  any  hope  of  success,  but,  con- 
vinced that  it  was  impossible  to  effect  a  rescue,  he  turned 
rein  to  Stenay  and  crossed  the  frontier  that  night,  to  die  in 
England  nine  years  after. 

For  the  royal  family  the  heat  and  the  dust  on  their  return 
journey  were  terrible.  They  reached  Ste.  Menehould  at 
half-past  one,  and  were  stopped  at  the  gate,  while  the  mayor 
delivered  a  municipal  address.  The  royal  family  lunched  in 
the  town  hall.  The  queen  showed  herself  to  the  crowd  with 
the  dauphin  in  her  arms ;  and  as  the  king  and  queen  passed 
through'  the  chapel  where  the  prisoners  in  the  town  heard 
mass,  they  distributed  money  to  the  poor  unfortunates  whose 
case  was  like  their  own. 

In  the  fields  beyond  Ste.  Menehould,  M.  de  Dampierre,  an 
old  gentleman  who  had  shown  them  some  respect,  was 
dragged  from  his  horse  and  murdered.  The  assassins  re- 
turned to  the  royal  carriage  bearing  his  head  in  their 
blood-stained  hands. 

The  king  and  his  family  would  gladly  have  stayed  a  day  at 
Chalons,  to  recover  from  their  fatigue.  But  the  patriots, 
seeing  that  the  sentiment  of  the  town  was  in  their  favor,  sent 
for  a  large  reinforcement  from  Rheims.  These  roughs  ar- 
rived at  ten  in  the  morning,  and  breaking  into  the  palace 
rushed  into  the  chapel  where  the  royal  family  was  hearing 
mass,  and  interrupting  the  service  hurried  them  into  their 
carriage  with  such  precipitation  that  a  large  sum  of  money 
was  left  behind. 

Between  Chalons  and  Epernay  the  queen  offejed  a  poor 
hungry  wretch  a  piece  of  boeuf  a  la  mode,  that  Fersen  had 
had  put  into  the  carriage.  A  voice  cried  :  "  Do  not  eat  it ! 

ii 


1 62  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

Do  you  not  see  they  wish  to  poison  you?"  The  queen 
immediately  partook  of  it  herself  and  gave  some  to  the 
dauphin.  4 

Between  Epernay  and  Dormans,  Potion,  Barnave,  and 
Latour-Maubourg  met  the  royal  party  as  commissioners  from 
the  National  Assembly.  Petion  and  Barnave  took  their 
places  in  the  berline.  Latour-Maubourg  preferred  to  travel 
with  the  waiting-maids,  telling  the  king  that  he  could  depend 
on  his  devotion,  but  that  it  was  important  to  gain  over  the 
two  others.  Potion's  conduct  was  brutal,  vulgar,  and  inde- 
cent, but  Barnave  conducted  himself  like  a  gentleman.  The 
queen  complained  to  Fersen  of  Potion's  conduct  when  they 
met  in  February,  1792. 

Saturday,  June  25,  was  the  last  day  of  their  prolonged  tor- 
ment. It  lasted  thirteen  hours,  from  six  in  the  morning  to 
seven  in  the  evening.  During  the  whole  day  the  travellers 
were  exposed  to  the  glare  of  a  midsummer  sun  and  to  the 
insults  of  the  mob.  At  the  barrier  of  Paris  they  were  met 
by  a  dense  crowd  of  citizens.  No  one  raised  his  hat,  or 
spoke  a  word.  They  entered  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries  by 
the  swinging  bridge,  and  were  protected  as  they  dismounted 
by  the  care  of  Lafayette. 

Such  is  the  true  story  of  the  flight  to  Varennes,  more 
touching  in  its  naked  simplicity  than  any  device  of  art  could 
make  it.  The  royal  family  had  many  chances  in  their  favor ; 
and  they  would  have  escaped  if  every  one  of  those  chances 
had  not  turned  against  them.  If  Choiseul  had  waited  a  short 
time  longer  at  Pont  Sommevesle ;  if  he  had  retired  at  a 
foot-pace  along  the  high-road ;  if  he  had  passed  through 
Ste.  Menehould  soon  after  the  berline  left  it ;  or  had  halted 
at  the  parting  of  the  ways  instead  of  losing  himself  precipi- 
tately in  pathless  woods ;  if  Goguelat  had  remained  behind 
at  the  post-house,  according  to  orders;  if  D'Andoins  had 
not  unsaddled  the  horses  of  his  dragoons  just  before  the  ber- 
line arrived ;  if  Lagache  had  not  lost  his  way  in  the  woods ; 
if  Damas  had  kept  his  men  ready  for  action ;  if  Charles 
Bouille  and  Raigecourt  had  not  shut  themselves  up  in  their 
bedroom ;  if  an  orderly  whom  they  sent  out  for  news  had 


THE  FLIGHT  TO    VARENNES.  163 

spoken  with  the  berline  when  he  met  it  outside  Varennes ;  if 
Valory  had  crossed  the  bridge  to  the  Hotel  du  Grand 
Monarque ;  if  Goguel^  had  not  altered  the  position  of  the 
relays ;  if  the  hair-dresser  Leonard  had  taken  the  road  to 
Stenay  instead  of  losing  himself  on  that  to  Verdun,  —  if  any 
one  of  these  things  had  turned  cut  differently,  the  royal 
family  might  have  been  saved  ! 


CHAPTER   II. 

COUNT   AXEL   FERSEN. 

A  LL  who  read  the  sad  story  of  the  Flight  to  Varennes 
**•  cannot  fail  to  take  a  deep,  an  almost  personal,  in- 
terest in  Count  Fersen.  His  fate  was  as  tragic  as  that  of 
those  he  planned  to  save ;  and  as  it  is  not  widely  known, 
a  brief  extract  from  a  recent  article  in  the  "  Gentleman's 
Magazine"  may  find  an  appropriate  place  among  these 
narratives. 

It  is  in  connection  with  the  flight  of  Louis  XVI.  and  Marie 
Antoinette,  which,  well  conceived  and  boldly  executed  in  its 
earlier  stages,  ended  in  such  miserable,  disastrous  failure  at 
Varennes,  that  the  name  of  Jean  Axel  de  Fersen  is  chiefly 
remembered,  —  not  in  virtue  of  his  own  stainless  and  gallant 
life,  or  of  its  most  terrible  and  tragic  ending,  but  of  that  link, 
broken  only  in  death,  which  connected  him  with  a  beautiful, 
heroic,  discrowned  woman ;  a  queen  in  whose  slow  martyr- 
dom, in  whose  last  lonely  hours  of  anguish,  men  and  women 
of  whatever  faith,  of  whatever  politics,  must  always  feel  a  lov- 
ing sympathy  almost  as  fresh  as  when  in  those  days  of  terror 
all  Europe  stood  aloof  and  waited  for  news  of  her  fate.  Count 
Fersen  waited  with  the  rest,  but  he  at  least  had  done  what  he 
could  to  save  her,  in  memory  of  those  bright  bygone  days, 
when  together  they  had  danced  in  merry  company  in  gay 
ball-rooms ;  together  had  glided  in  gilded  sleighs  over  the 
frozen  snow :  together  had  wandered  through  the  gardens 
and  the  woodlands  of  the  Little  Trianon.  These  two  had 
played  together  in  tragedy  and  comedy  on  a  mimic  stage ; 
and  when  the  other  actors  vanished,  falling  away  from  her,  — 
the  inspirer  of  their  pleasures,  the  life  of  their  sports,  —  like 


COUNT  FERSEN. 


COUNT  AXEL  FERSEN.  165 

sapless  leaves  at  the  first  pinch  of  frost,  it  was  but  natural 
that  this  man,  who  loved  her  disinterestedly  when  so  many 
professed  devotion  and  paid  a  homage  which  had  always 
some  private  end  in  view,  should  stand  by  her  as  long  as  he 
could ;  that  he  should  to  the  last,  when  his  actual  presence 
would  only  have  been  an  added  danger,  cheer  her  from  a  dis- 
tance by  his  words  of  courage  and  counsel. 

Of  all  the  European  sovereigns,  Gustavus  III.  of  Sweden 
was  the  stanchest  friend  that  the  French  royal  family  pos- 
sessed, so  that  Count  Fersen  could  at  least  feel  that  in  all  he 
strove  to  do  for  them  as  an  individual,  he  had  his  master's 
approval.  "  If  I  can  serve  them,"  he  writes  to  his  father, 
"  what  pleasure  will  it  not  give  me  to  acquit  myself  of  a  part 
at  least  of  the  obligations  I  owe  them  !  What  a  sweet  sat- 
isfaction for  my  heart  if  I  am  able  to  contribute  to  their 
happiness !  " 

Marie  Antoinette  had  kept  a  few  friends  —  a  very  few  — 
out  of  the  wreck  of  her  life,  and  none  held  a  closer  place  in 
it  than  Axel  de  Fersen.  Calumny  battened  on  their  friend- 
ship and  called  it  an  intrigue  ;  but  calumny  had  pursued  the 
queen  from  the  moment  when,  a  girl  of  fifteen,  she  set  foot  in 
France,  and  never  was  able  to  produce  a  single  proof  positive 
against  a  virtue  that  was  exposed  to  every  temptation,  subject 
to  every  contamination. 

That  Fersen  was  a  man  to  whom,  as  a  woman,  Marie 
Antoinette's  heart  might  naturally  have  responded,  one  can 
well  believe.  She  found,  in  his  gentle  reliability  and  stead- 
fast truth,  a  support  and  companionship  she  sorely  needed  ; 
he  possessed  all  the  attributes  that  charm  as  well.  And 
their  friendship,  begun  in  sunshine,  starting  gayly  on  the 
smooth  tide  of  prosperity,  outlived  the  foundering  of  many 
others.  Long  after,  when  Marie  Antoinette's  graceful  co- 
quetries were  washed  out  in  bitter  tears,  when  her  heart  was 
dead  to  all  personal  hope  and  joy,  and  beat  only  in  throbs  of 
anguish  for  her  husband  and  her  children,  her  letters  to  Fersen 
attest  how  inalienable  a  place  he  held  in  her  gratitude  and 
affection.  He  was  perhaps  foremost  in  her  mind  when  in 
her  sad  last  hours  she  wrote  her  farewell  letter  —  one  of  the 


1 66  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

noblest  and  most  pathetic  letters  ever  penned  by  woman  — 

1        ^ 

to  Madame  Elisabeth ;  a  letter  never  delivered  to  her  to 
whom  it  was  addressed,  but  found  among  the  papers  of 
Fouquier-Tinville.  "  I  had  friends  once  ;  the  idea  of  being 
separated  from  them  forever,  and  of  their  sorrow,  is  one  of  the 
greatest  regrets  I  carry  with  me  in  dying.  Let  them  know 
at  least  that  until  my  last  hour  I  thought  of  them." 

Jean  Axel  de  Fersen  was  born  in  September,  1755.  He 
came  of  a  noble  Swedish  family  distinguished  in  the  annals 
of  their  country  for  military  achievements  and  high  personal 
character.  At  the  age  of  fifteen  he  was  sent  abroad  with  a 
tutor  to  pursue  his  studies,  and  three  years  later  he  paid  his 
first  visit  to  Paris  (1773).  Versailles  was  at  its  brightest,  the 
court  was  at  its  gayest,  and  M.  de  Fersen's  rank  and  con- 
nections gave  him  the  entree  of  the  highest  society.  The 
Swedish  ambassador  wrote  with  positive  enthusiasm  to  Gus- 
tavus  III.  in  his  young  fellow-countryman's  praise  :  "  It  is 
not  possible  to  behave  with  greater  tact  and  discretion  than 
he  does.  With  the  handsomest  of  faces  and  plenty  of  wit, 
he  could  not  fail  to  succeed  in  society,  and  he  has  done  so 
completely.  Your  Majesty  will  certainly  be  pleased  with 
him.  But  what  so  especially  makes  M.  de  Fersen  worthy  of 
your  favors  is  that  he  is  of  a  singular  nobility  and  elevation 
of  mind." 

The  autumn  of  1778  found  him  again  in  Paris,  where  he 
was  welcomed  back  by  Marie  Antoinette,  then  Queen  of 
France,  as  an  old  friend.  Marie  Antoinette  was  always 
especially  gracious  to  foreigners.  She  felt  she  could  allow 
herself  to  be  so.  When  some  one  pointed  out  to  her  the 
dangers  of  showing  such  preference,  and  the  offence  it  might 
give  to  the  French  nobility,  she  answered  sadly,  "  They  are 
the  only  ones  who  ask  nothing  from  me." 

Her  intimacy  with  Fersen  and  their  evident  pleasure  in 
each  other's  society  soon  attracted  the  attention  of  the  cour- 
tiers. It  was  whispered  that  the  queen  was  deeply  in  love 
with  the  young  Swedish  nobleman,  and  thence  they  jumped 
to  the  worst  conclusions.  As  soon  as  Axel  de  Fersen  be- 
came aware  of  these  slanders,  he  hastened  to  put  an  end  to 


COUNT  AXEL  FERSEN.  167 

them,  by  requesting,  as  a  great  favor,  to  be  appointed  aide- 
de-camp  to  Comte*Rochambeau,  then  on  the  point  of  depart- 
ing for  America.  A  great  lady  had  the  effrontery  to  say  to 
him  before  he  left,  "  Comment,  monsieur  I  you  abandon  thus 
your  conquest  ?  "  "  If  I  had  made  one,"  replied  Fersen,  with 
quiet  dignity,  "  I  should  not  have  abandoned  it.  I  depart 
free,  and  unhappily  without  leaving  behind  me  any  regrets." 

The  Swedish  ambassador  wrote  on  this  occasion  to  his 
master,  King  Gustavus :  "  I  confess  I  cannot  help  believing 
she  has  a  penchant  for  him.  I  have  seen  indications  of  it  too 
certain  to  be  able  to  doubt  it.  The  young  count  has  be- 
haved on  this  occasion  with  admirable  modesty  and  reserve ; 
above  all,  in  the  part  he  took  in  leaving  for  America.  The 
queen's  eyes  could  not  quit  him  in  those  last  days ;  in  look- 
ing at  him  they  were  full  of  tears." 

Alas,  poor  queen  !  If  she  loved  him,  or  would  have 
loved  him  under  other  circumstances  ;  if,  in  her  early  love- 
less life,  her  warm  heart,  craving  for  affection,  turned  to  his,  — 
is  it  to  be  wondered  at?  Is  it  the  subject  for  a  sneer? 

So  Fersen,  the  aristocrat,  crossed  the  seas  to  draw  his 
sword  on  the  side  of  democratic  liberty.  As  Rochambeau's 
aide-de-camp  he  was  at  the  surrender  at  Yorktovvn,  and 
he  remained  in  America  till  peace  was  concluded  in  1783. 
On  his  return  he  received  honors  from  his  own  sovereign 
and  from  Louis  XVI.,  and  found  himself  in  command  of 
one  of  the  foreign  regiments  in  the  service  of  France,  the 
Royal  Su£dois,  at  the  age  of  eight  and  twenty. 

Axel  de  Fersen  was  no  narrow-minded  aristocrat.  He 
had  indeed  fewer  prejudices  than  most  men  of  his  class, 
having  in  his  father's  house  been  brought  up  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  liberal  ideas.  At  first  the  Revolution,  which,  on 
his  return  from  America,  he  found  impending,  seemed  to 
him  a  beginning  of  better  things  for  oppressed,  tax-laden 
France.  To  use  his  own  words,  it  was  "  A  healthy  malady, 
only  requiring  a  good  doctor."  Then^s  the  months  passed, 
and  the  fever  heat  grew  higher  and  higher,  the  near  pros- 
pect appalled  him,  and  his  hopefulness  turned  to  dismay. 
Early  in  1790  he  resigned  his  command  of  the  Royal 


1 68  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

Sue'dois,  and  was  commissioned  by  Gustavus  III.  to  reside 
in  Paris  and  be  the  agent  of  his  direct  communications 
with  the  king  and  queen.  In  Paris,  therefore,  he  remained, 
forming  one  of  the  ever-dwindling  group  of  friends  and 
counsellors  on  whom  the  King  and  Queen  of  France  could 
really  depend. 

In  the  summer  of  1791  he  planned  and  carried  out  the 
escape  which  ended  so  fatally  at  Varennes.  He  did  not 
"  disappear  into  unknown  space,"  as  Carlyle  says,  when  he 
quitted  the  royal  party  at  Bondy.  He  hurried  across 
country  to  Mons,  over  the  frontier,  whence  he  addressed 
a  few  triumphant  lines  to  his  father,  telling  him  that  the 
royal  family  were  well  on  their  way  to  Montme'dy,  and  that 
he  himself  was  about  to  rejoin  them.  At  midnight  the  next 
day,  June  23,  he  wrote  to  his  father  again,  this  time  in  bitter 
grief  and  disappointment.  "  My  dear  father,  all  is  lost, 
and  I  am  in  despair.  The  king  has  been  arrested  at 
Varennes.  Judge  of  my  sorrow,  and  pity  me."  Perhaps 
he  was  most  to  be  pitied  when  shortly  after  there  reached 
him  a  sad  little  letter  from  the  unhappy  queen.  "  I  exist," 
it  begins,  "  that  is  all.  How  anxious  I  have  been  for  you, 
and  how  I  compassionate  you  for  all  you  will  suffer  in  not 
having  news  of  us  !  May  Heaven  grant  that  this  may  reach 
you  !  We  are  watched  day  and  night,  but  that  does  not 
matter.  Be  easy.  Nothing  will  happen  to  me." 

Count  Fersen's  father  was  now  anxious  that  he  should  re- 
turn to  Sweden,  but  Fersen  soon  convinced  him  that  he  must 
not  desert  the  king  and  queen,  nor  go  out  of  reach  of  news 
of  them.  He  fixed  his  headquarters  in  Brussels,  where  he 
found  himself  surrounded  by  French  emigrb  nobility,  who 
disgusted  him  with  their  levity  and  selfishness. 

By  means  of  cipher  and  sympathetic  ink,  he  continued  to 
correspond  regularly  with  Marie  Antoinette,  directing  and 
advising,  as  well  as  keeping  her  constantly  informed  of  all 
that  went  on  in  Europe.  They  are  sad  enough  reading, 
those  letters,  and  her  answers ;  a  record  of  hope  deferred ; 
of  repeated  disappointments  ;  of  plans  of  escape  that  came 
to  nothing;  and,  saddest  of  all,  pathetic  allusions  to  the 


COUNT  AXEL  FERSEN.  169 

time  "  when  we  shall  meet  again  in  better  days."  They  did 
see  each  other  once  more.  On  Feb.  n,  1792,  Fersen 
left  Brussels,  disguised  as  a  courier,  having  at  last  obtained 
the  queen's  permission  to  risk  a  visit  to  Paris.  On  the 
i3th  he  saw  her  in  a  brief  interview.  On  the  2ist  he  spent 
some  hours  at  the  Tuileries  with  the  king  and  queen,  and 
took  tea  and  supper  with  them.  At  midnight  they  parted. 
Fersen  returned  to  Brussels,  narrowly  escaping  arrest  on 
the  way. 

In  the  following  month  King  Gustavus  III.  was  assassi- 
nated ;  and  in  him  Count  Fersen  lost  an  affectionate  friend 
and  protector.  The  French  royal  family  also  lost  its  strong- 
est support.  The  successor  of  Gustavus  was  a  very  different 
character,  and  pursued  a  different  policy.  He  joined  the 
Allies,  and,  with  the  Empress  Catherine,  planned  an  invasion 
of  France  by  way  of  Normandy.  Thenceforth  Axel  de 
Fersen's  political  influence  was  practically  at  an  end. 

Throughout  the  summer  of  1792,  Marie  Antoinette  con- 
tinued to  write  to  him  brief  letters,  addressed  to  an  imagi- 
nary M.  Rignon  from  an  imaginary  friend  in  Paris.  In  July 
she  wrote  :  "  I  still  exist,  but  it  is  by  a  miracle.  .  .  .  Do 
not  distress  yourself  too  much  on  my  account." 

After  the  royal  family  were  imprisoned  in  the  Temple, 
correspondence  became  almost  impossible ;  and  to  Fersen's 
bitter  anxiety  was  added  the  trial  of  enforced  ignorance. 
The  public  papers  brought  him  news  of  the  September 
massacres ;  of  the  king's  trial  and  execution ;  of  Marie 
Antoinette's  separation  from  her  children ;  then  of  her 
removal  to  the  Conciergerie.  From  that  time,  though  her 
friends  hoped  against  hope  and  struggled  with  despair,  they 
must  have  known  that  her  fate  was  practically  sealed ;  but 
the  months  dragged  on  slowly,  one  by  one,  and  she  still  lived. 

In  Fersen's  diary,  written  at  Brussels,  Oct.  19,  1793,  is 
a  full  account  of  a  man  named  Andr£,  who  declared  himself 
willing,  for  the  sum  of  two  million  francs,  to  contrive  the 
queen's  escape.  The  next  day  Fersen  learned  that  there 
was  no  longer  any  need  for  his  plans;  on  October  16,  the 
queen  had  been  executed. 


1 70  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

"  Although  I  was  prepared  for  it,"  her  friend  writes,  "  the 
certainty  overwhelmed  me.  I  had  not  the  strength  to  feel 
anything.  ...  It  was  frightful  not  to  have  any  positive 
details,  to  know  that  she  was  alone  in  her  last  moments, 
without  consolation,  without  any  one  to  'speak  to,  to  whom  to 
give  her  last  wishes.  It  fills  one  with  horror.  Those  mon- 
sters of  hell !  No !  without  vengeance  my  heart  will 
never  be  satisfied." 

After  this,  till  1800,  Count  Fersen  was  employed  on 
various  diplomatic  missions.  He  then  returned  to  Sweden, 
where  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life  were  spent.  He  was 
rich,  and  had  a  great  position,  but  death  had  deprived  him 
in  a  few  years  of  all  those  whom  he  most  cared  for,  —  his 
beloved  queen,  his  father,  his  mother,  his  sister,  his  dearest 
friend ;  and  private  griefs  and  public  anxieties  combined  to 
make  his  life  a  sad  one. 

Sweden  was  passing  through  troubled  times.  Gustavus  IV. 
was  deserted  by  his  people,  and  in  1809  was  forced  to 
abdicate.  Charles  XIII.  was  elected  to  the  throne,  and 
Prince  Christian  of  Schleswig-Holstein  was  to  be  his  suc- 
cessor. A  year  later  Prince  Christian  died  suddenly,  and 
Count  Fersen,  now  Grand  Marshal  of  Sweden,  was  suspected 
by  the  populace  of  having  contrived  his  death  in  the  interest 
of  the  aristocratic  party. 

On  June  20,  the  day  of  the  prince's  public  funeral,  the 
police  warned  Charles  XIII.  that  an  entente  was  in  prepa- 
ration, and  that  Count  Fersen's  life  would  be  in  danger  if  he 
attended  the  obsequies.  The  king,  however,  took  no  pre- 
cautionary measures.  The  funeral  procession,  as  it  entered 
Stockholm,  was  headed  by  a  detachment  of  cavalry,  followed 
by  a  gilded  coach  drawn  by  six  horses,  in  which  sat  Axel  de 
Fersen,  in  his  gorgeous  uniform  of  grand  marshal,  covered 
with  sparkling  decorations.  He  had  not  gone  far  before  a 
clamorous  crowd  gathered  round  his  carriage,  threatening 
violence  and  calling  him  Prince  Christian's  murderer. 

At  last,  at  the  turning  of  a  street,  an  immense  concourse 
of  people  made  the  progress  of  the  procession  impossible. 
They  pulled  open  the  carriage  doors,  and  dragged  Fersen 


COUNT  AXEL  FERSEN  171 

out,  but  he  managed  to  take  refuge  in  a  house  near  by.  It 
was  only  for  a  moment's  breathing  space.  The  general  in 
command  of  the  troops,  warned  of  his  peril,  sent  a  handful 
of  soldiers,  too  few  to  contend  against  the  infuriated  mob. 
It  would  not  be  balked  of  its  prey.  Fersen  was  once  more 
torn  from  his  would-be  protectors,  dragged  through  the 
streets  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  and  there  in  the  courtyard 
brutally,  horribly  murdered,  —  he,  to  whom  a  soldier's 
death  would  have  been  so  welcome,  or  who  would  have 
gladly  died  on  the  scaffold  with  the  woman  he  loved  !  Did 
he  in  his  last  moments  remember  her  noble  forgiveness  of 
her  murderers  ?  At  least  he  had  time  to  gather  his  senses 
together,  and  to  follow  her  example.  An  on-looker  told 
afterwards  that  just  before  his  death  he  struggled  to  his 
knees,  crying  aloud,  "  Oh,  my  God,  who  callest  me  thus  to 
Thee,  I  implore  Thee  for  these,  my  murderers,  whom'  I 
forgive  ! " 


CHAPTER   III. 

AUGUST  THE   TENTH   AND   THE   SEPTEMBER   MASSACRES. 

T  X  7E  have  seen  Mr.  Griffith's  account  of  the  gth  and 
*  *  loth  of  August  in  the  streets  of  Paris,  and  in  the 
house  of  Mr.  Morris,  the  American  ambassador.  He  wit- 
nessed the  attack  on  the  Tuileries  from  the  Quais,  but  could 
not  see  what  was  passing  inside  the  palace  or  the  gardens. 
We  will  take  an  abridged  account  of  this  from  Mr.  Carlyle. 

About  dark  on  the  evening  of  August  9,  the  drums 
beat  the  generate  in  all  the  streets,  to  call  out  the  National 
Guard.  Then  Paris  knew  that  disorder  was  on  foot.  A 
fearful  game  was  ready  for  playing  in  this  Paris  Pande- 
monium, or  City  of  all  the  Devils.  Yet  the  night  was  warm 
and  clear  and  calm. 

Petion,  the  popular  mayor  of  Paris  for  the  moment,  had 
been  to  see  the  king,  and  by  a  manoeuvre  was  detained  in 
the  garden  of  the  Tuileries,  so  that  the  Hotel  de  Ville  was 
left  without  a  mayor,  who  until  four  o'clock  in  the  morning 
walked  the  garden  under  the  stars.  Then  the  Legislative 
Assembly,  which  had  been  sitting  all  night,  heard  of  his 
plight  and  sent  for  him  to  give  an  account  of  Paris,  of 
which,  of  course,  he  knew  nothing. 

That  night  there  was  little  sleep  in  the  palace.  Its  apart- 
ments were  crowded.  Seven  hundred  gentlemen  had  been 
summoned  to  die  with  or  for  their  king.  Among  them  was 
old  Marshal  Maille',  past  eighty  years  of  age.  Then  the 
alarm  rang  out  from  all  the  steeples,  among  them  that  "of  St. 
Germain  1'Auxerrois,  which  had  rung  the  signal  for  the  St. 
Bartholomew  two  hundred  and  twenty  years  (all  but  fourteen 
days)  before. 


THE   TENTH  OF  AUGUST.  173 

At  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  meantime,  there  was  a  revolution ; 
the  municipal  authorities  were  put  out,  and  new  men  were 
put  in  their  places,  Danton  among  them  being  chief. 

In  this  manner  waned  the  slow  night,  amid  threats, 
anxiety,  and  the  sounding  of  the  tocsin  ;  men's  temper  rising 
to  the  hysterical  pitch  ;  but,  as  yet,  nothing  was  done.  Few 
people,  one  imagines,  slept  that  night  in  Paris,  but  the  king 
lay  down  in  his  clothes,  rubbing  the  powder  out  of  his  hair 
on  the  side  that  his  head  had  pressed  the  pillow. 

Three  times  the  new  municipal  government  at  the  Hotel 
de  Ville  had  sent  for  Commandant  Mandat,  who,  they  heard, 
had  issued  orders  to  the  National  Guard  that,  if  attacked, 
they  were  to  fire  on  the  populace.  At  last  he  obeyed  the 
summons,  and  was  at  once  ordered  off  to  prison.  He  never 
reached  it ;  for  on  the  steps  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  the  mob 
snatched  him  from  the  gendarmes  and  tore  him  to  pieces. 

Seventeen  persons  were  taken  up  as  suspicious  characters 
in  the  Champs  Elysees  and  carried  to  the  guard-house  of 
the  Legislative  Assembly.  Eleven  of  these  promptly  made 
their  escape  ;  then  two  more  got  away  in  the  confusion. 
The  remaining  four  were  massacred.  All  this  was  in  the 
dawn  of  the  icth  of  August. 

Meantime  the  National  Guards  at  the  Tuileries,  having 
lost  Mandat,  their  commander,  were  without  orders,  and,  hav- 
ing stood  in  their  ranks  all  night  without  food  or  sleep,  they 
went  off  to  their  own  homes.  The  queen  was  led  to  a 
window  by  Madame  Elisabeth,  and  they  stood  watching  the 
sun  rise  gloriously  over  the  Jacobin  Church,  and  the  roofs 
of  the  southeastern  quarter.  Before  the  National  Guard 
dispersed,  the  king  went  down  into  the  Carrousel  with  old 
Marshal  Maille,  to  review  the  |pops,  still  stationed  there  to 
defend  him.  Not  a  voice  cried  Vive  le  roi  I  but  there  were 
growls  of  Vive  la  nation  I  Then  he  knew  that  hope  was  over. 

The  tocsin  brought  the  Sections  from  all  quarters  of  the 
city.  They  were  led  on  by  the  Marseillais.  The  can- 
noneers in  the  Carrousel  refused  to  fire  on  the  mob.  Then 
there  remained  for  the  royal  family  but  one  chance  of  per- 
sonal safety.  The  king  was  implored  to  seek  refuge  under 


1/4  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

the  roof  of  the  Legislative  Assembly.  He  sat  some  time  in 
silence,  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  his  body  bent  forwards, 
and  gazed  fixedly  into  space.  Then,  looking  over  his 
shoulder  to  the  queen,  who  stood  behind  him,  he  said, 
"  Let  us  go." 

King  Louis,  the  queen,  sister  Elisabeth,  the  two  royal 
children,  the  Princesse  de  Lamballe,  and  their  governess 
then  left  the  Tuileries,  to  which  one  only  was  ever  to  return. 
They  were  attended  by  officers  of  the  popular  party  and  a 
double  rank  of  National  Guards,  the  steady  Swiss  Guards 
gazing  mournfully  and  reproachfully  after  them,  for  no  orders 
had  been  given  them,  and  they  were  left  deserted. 

Oh !  ye  staunch  Swiss  !  Oh  !  ye  gallant  gentlemen  in 
black  !  for  what  a  cause  are  ye  to  spend  and  to  be  spent ! 
Look  out  from  the  western  windows.  Ye  may  see  King 
Louis  placidly  holding  on  his  way,  the  poor  little  Prince 
Royal  sportively  kicking  the  fallen  leaves.  Frenzied  men, 
crowding  behind  the  guards,  are  ready  to  tear  them  all  from 
their  defenders.  But  a  deputation  of  legislators  comes  out 
of  the  hall,  and  royalty  in  safety  ascends  the  staircase,  a  blue 
grenadier  lifting  the  poor  little  Prince  in  his  arms. 

All  in  the  Chateau  is  now  uncertainty  and  confusion. 
The  courtiers  in  black  disappear,  mostly  through  such  side- 
issues  as  they  can.  The  poor  Swiss  know  not  how  to  act. 
One  duty  only  was  clear  to  them,  That  of  standing  to  their 
post.  They  will  perform  that. 

The  mob  arrives,  breaks  in,  and  fills  the  Court  of  the 
Carrousel.  The  black-browed  Marseillais  are  in  the  van. 
Suddenly  there  is  a  roar  from  the  three  Marseillaise  cannon. 
It  was  eight  in  the  morning. *Q 

The  Swiss,  who  had  stood  to  their  posts,  but  peacefully, 
responded  to  the  cannon-shot  by  a  rolling  fire  of  musketry. 
Not  a  few  of  the  Marseillais,  after  their  long,  dusty  march,  have 
made  halt  there.  The  mob,  exposed  to  fire,  is  driven  back. 

But  they  rallied  with  vengeance  in  their  hearts ;  and  from 

1  At  that  sound  Thomas  Griffith  awoke,  and  he  saw  what  hap- 
pened afterwards. 


MADAME  ELISABETH. 


THE    TENTH  OF  AUGUST.  175 

all  patriot  artillery,  great  and  small,  roared  a  responsive 
whirlwind.  Then  came  an  order  carried  by  some  brave 
man  from  the  Legislative  Hall  to  the  Swiss  to  cease  firing. 
Alas  !  it  was  too  late.  Terror  and  fury  ruled  the  hour. 
The  Swiss,  pressed  in  on  from  without,  paralyzed  from 
within,  ceased  to  shoot,  but  not  to  be  shot.  One  party  of 
them,  attempting  to  fly  by  a  back  street,  was  utterly  destroyed. 
Another,  rushing  through  fire  to  the  Legislative  Assembly, 
found  refuge  on  its  back  benches ;  three  hundred  darted 
out  in  column,  and  hoped  by  way  of  the  Champs  Elyse'es 
to  reach  the  Swiss  barracks  at  Courbevoie,  where  other 
Swiss  had  been  stationed  to  aid  in  the  escape  of  the  king. 

Then  came  firing,  and  murdering  in  the  streets.  House 
porters  who  were  called  Suisses  in  those  days  were  shot 
down,  whether  Swiss  or  Frenchmen.  Some  Swiss  found 
refuge  in  private  houses,  and  the  Marseillais,  so  fierce 
of  late,  were  eager  to  save  some  of  them.  One  man, 
Clemence,  a  wine  merchant,  stumbled  forward  to  the  bar 
of  the  Assembly,  holding  a  rescued  Swiss  by  the  hand  ; 
telling  passionately  how  he  had  succored  him  with  pain  and 
peril,  how  he  will  henceforth  support  him,  being  childless, 
and  then  fell  in  a  swoon,  embracing  the  poor  Swiss,  at 
which  the  Assembly  applauded.  But  most  of  the  Swiss 
were  butchered.  Fifty,  some  say  fourscore,  were  marched 
as  prisoners  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  but  the  ferocious  people 
burst  through  their  guards  and  massacred  all  of  them. 

Surely  few  things  in  the  history  of  carnage  are  more 
painful  than  this  massacre  of  the  Swiss.  Honor  to  you, 
brave  men  !  —  and  pity  through  all  time  !  He  was  no  king 
of  yours,  —  this  Louis  !  —  and  he  forsook  you  !  Ye  were 
but  sold  to  him  for  some  poor  sixpence  a  day.  Yet  ye  would 
do  work  for  your  wages,  and  kept  your  plighted  word.  Let 
the  traveller  as  he  passes  through  Lucerne  turn  aside  to  look 
a  little  at  their  monumental  Lion.  Not  for  Thorwaldsen's 
sake  alone.  Hewn  out  of  living  rock,  the  figure  rests  there 
by  the  still  calm  waters,  the  granite  mountains  keeping  watch 
all  round.1 

1  Cf.  Carlyle's  "  French  Revolution." 


176  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

Meantime  patriot  onlookers  and  others  gazed  on  the 
dreadful  scene  across  the  Seine  (Thomas  Griffith  among 
them).  But  there  was  another  young  man  looking  on  who 
thought  that  had  the  Swiss  had  any  stout  man  to  command 
them,  they  might  have  beaten  back  the  mob  after  its  first 
repulse.  He  was  a  man  well  qualified  to  judge ;  a  young 
lieutenant  of  artillery,  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  who  ever  after 
had  the  sincerest  pity  for  King  Louis  and  his  family,  and 
contempt  and  detestation  for  popular  mobs. 

It  is  strange  to  reflect  that  while  these  things  went  on,  on 
the  i  oth  of  August  in  Paris,  men  and  women  were  carrying 
on  their  own  affairs  :  women  were  busy  with  their  children 
and  their  housekeeping,  men  were  breakfasting  in  cafes. 
Even  Mr.  Morris,  who  had  invited  a  party  of  guests  that  day 
to  dine  with  him,  records  in  his  journal  that  he  welcomed 
them  with  regrets  and  apologies  for  the  spoiling  of  his  fish, 
owing  to  the  extreme  heat  of  the  weather. 

On  that  day,  the  loth  of  August,  1792,  the  Revolution  was 
consummated;  monarchy,  and  the  Constitution  which  the 
Constituent  Assembly  had  been  at  such  pains  to  put  on 
paper,  were  both  swept  away.  The  government  of  France 
fell  into  the  hands  of  a  self-constituted  executive  body,  the 
Committee  of  Public  Safety. 

Real  danger  from  foreign  potentates  was  threatening 
France.  Prussia  and  Austria  had  armies  in  the  field  ;  and 
from  fifteen  to  twenty  thousand  emigrant  gentlemen,  all 
members  of  the  aristocracy  of  France,  with  the  king's  brothers 
at  their  head,  were  on  the  Rhine  at  Coblentz,  only  waiting 
for  the  Duke  of  Brunswick,  their  commander  in  chief,  to  lead 
them  on.  Paris  had  been  for  some  months  in  a  ferment,  wild 
with  what  it  was  pleased  to  call  patriotism  ;  La  Vendee,  faith- 
ful to  the  cause  of  its  king  and  of  its  priests,  was  up  in  arms. 

The  populace  of  Paris  when  "  in  a  ferment "  is  simply  "  off 
its  head  ; "  its  one  idea  is  treason.  Unhappily  during  the 
summer  of  1792  the  king  had  found  it  impossible  to  sign  two 
bills  passed  by  the  Legislative  Assembly.  One  was  a  decree 
for  banishing  all  priests  who  would  not  violate  their  consecra- 
tion oaths  and  renounce  obedience  to  the  Pope,  by  taking 


THE    TENTH  OF  AUGUST.  IJJ 

the  oath  required  by  the  Constitution  ;  the  other  was  to 
authorize  the  formation  of  a  camp  on  the  outskirts  of  Paris 
of  twenty-five  thousand  picked  patriot  volunteers. 

The  king  used  his  power  of  veto,  and  defeated  for  a  time 
these  two  measures.  Then  rose  all  over  Paris  that  song  of 
fa  ira,  one  verse  of  which  is  as  follows  :  — 

"  Madame  Veto  m'a  promis 
De  faire  egorger  tout  Paris ! 

Dansons  la  Carmagnole  !     Dansons  la  Carmagnole  ! 
Dansons  la  Carmagnole ! 
Et  9a  ira  I  "  1 

The  country  by  a  decree  of  the  Assembly  had  already 
been  pronounced  to  be  in  danger.  All  its  chief  generals, 
notably  Lafayette,  were  suspected  of  being  traitors.  Each 
municipal  official  sat  in  the  middle  of  his  section  in  a  tent 
erected  in  some  open  space,  over  which  waved  a  flag  in- 
scribed, THE  COUNTRY  is  IN  DANGER  ;  and  topmost  stuck  a 
pike  surmounted  by  a  bonnet  rouge.  Before  him  was  a  plank 
table,  and  on  it  was  an  open  book,  behind  which  sat  a  clerk 
like  a  recording  angel,  ready  to  write  down  the  names  of  those 
in  the  section  who  were  ready  to  enlist,  and  save  the  country. 

Excitement  rose  to  fever  heat  when  the  celebrated  procla- 
mation of  Brunswick  appeared.  It  said  that  all  Frenchmen 
who  did  not  instantly  submit  and  join  his  forces  should  be 
declared  traitors.  Any  National  Guard  or  civilian,  found  in 
arms  resisting  the  German  forces,  should  be  promptly  hanged. 
And  if  Paris,  before  Brunswick  reached  it,  should  have 
offered  any  further  insult  to  the  king,  Paris  should  be  blasted 
asunder  with  cannon-shot  and  military  execution,  while  the 
like  ruin  should  fall  on  all  cities  that  refused  to  submit ; 
they  should  be  left  smoking  ruins. 

1  They  even  named  a  frigate  the  "  Qa  ira."  She  came  into  Boston  har- 
bor during  the  days  when  the  truculent  Citizen  Genet  was  ambassador 
at  Washington,  hoping  to  arouse  Revolutionary  fervor.  It  is  said  that 
her  captain  nailed  to  his  mainmast  a  list  of  Boston  aristocrats  who 
should  be  guillotined.  But  the  large  family  of  Amory  proving  too 
long  to  enumerate,  he  ended  his  list  of  proscription  with  "  Et  tous  les 
Amorys." 


178  THE   FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

In  the  midst  of  this  excitement  the  Marseillais,  eight  hun- 
dred strong,  had  arrived  in  Paris,  singing  their  heart-stirring 
song.  On  Sunday,  Augusts,  —  five  days  before  the  fatal 
loth  of  August,  —  King  Louis  held  at  the  Tuileries  his  last 
levee.  Never  had  a  levee  been  so  crowded.  But  sad  anxiety 
sat  on  every  face,  and  many  eyes  were  filled  with  tears; 
while  outside  the  tricolored  ribbons,  which  guarded  the 
approaches  to  the  palace,  the  legislature  was  debating, 
Sections  were  defiling,  and  all  Paris  was  astir  demand- 
ing de'che'ance ;  that  is,  the  king's  deposition.  Within  the 
ribbon,  however,  a  proposal  was  on  foot  for  the  hundredth 
time,  that  of  carrying  off  his  Majesty  to  Rouen  and  the  old 
Chateau  Gaillon.  The  Swiss  Guard  at  Courbevoie  was  all 
ready.  His  Majesty  himself  was  almost  ready.  Nevertheless, 
for  the  hundredth  time  he,  when  the  point  for  action  had  been 
reached,  drew  back,  and  wrote,  after  his  faithful  servants  had 
waited  palpitating,  an  endless  summer  day,  that  "  he  had 
reasons  to  believe  the  insurrection  was  not  so  ripe  as  they 
supposed." 

All  this,  if  it  cannot  justify  the  rising  of  the  loth  of  August, 
at  least  enables  us  to  give  some  reasons  why  popular  excite- 
ment rose  to  fury  against  the  king ;  but  there  was  neither 
reason  nor  excuse  for  the  murders  perpetrated  by  munici- 
pal connivance  at  the  prisons,  twenty-three  days  later,  on 
Sept.  2  and  3,  1792.  For  these  murders  Danton  must  be 
held  primarily  responsible ;  and  the  only  excuse  ever  given 
was  that  the  volunteers  about  to  set  forward  to  the  frontier 
wished  to  strike  a  blow  which  should  paralyze  with  terror  all 
aristocrats  in  Paris,  and  sweep  away  hundreds  of  those  who 
in  the  event  of  a  counter-revolution  might  jeopardize  the 
safety  of  the  wives  and  children  whom  they  left  behind. 

It  is  thought  that  1,089  prisoners  were  massacred  in  the 
prisons  of  the  Abbaye  and  La  Force,  besides  those  in  the 
Bicetre,  which  was  taken  by  storm.  Three  men  who  es- 
caped death  in  the  two  former  prisons  have  written  accounts 
of  their  personal  experience,  —  Jourgniac,  a  soldier,  Maton,  a 
lawyer,  and  the  Abb£  Sicard,  a  distinguished  teacher  of  the 
deaf  and  dumb. 


THE  SEPTEMBER  MASSACRES.  179 

Jourgniac  says  :  "  Towards  seven  o'clock  on  Sunday  night 
of  September  2,  I,  being  in  prison  in  the  Abbaye,  saw  two 
men  enter  our  room.  Their  hands  were  all  bloody,  and 
they  were  armed  with  swords.  A  turnkey  with  a  torch 
lighted  them.  He  pointed  to  the  bed  of  Reding,  a  wounded 
Swiss,  who  was  one  of  us.  Reding  spoke  with  a  dying 
voice.  One  of  the  men  paused,  but  the  other  cried,  '  Aliens 
done ! '  He  lifted  the  unfortunate  Swiss  from  his  bed,  and 
carried  him  out  on  his  back  to  the  street.  He  was  butchered 
there.  We  all  looked  at  one  another  without  speaking. 
We  clasped  each  other's  hands.  Every  man  looked  down 
in  silence  on  the  prison  pavement,  on  which  lay  the  moon- 
light checkered  by  the  shadows  of  the  triple  stanchions  of 
our  window.  At  three  in  the  morning  we  heard  them 
breaking  in  one  of  the  prison  doors.  Our  first  thought  was, 
that  they  were  coming  to  kill  us  in  our  room.  Then  we 
heard  by  voices  on  the  staircase  that  they  were  attacking  a 
room  in  which  some  prisoners  had  barricaded  themselves. 
They  were  all  butchered  there,  as  we  shortly  gathered  from 
words  and  cries. 

"  At  ten  o'clock  the  Abb£  Lenfant  and  the  Abbe'  de  Chapt- 
Rastignac  appeared  in  the  pulpit  of  the  chapel  (then  used 
as  part  of  our  prison).  They  had  entered  by  a  door  from 
the  stairs.  They  told  us  simply  that,  our  end  was  at  hand, 
that  we  must  compose  ourselves  and  receive  their  last 
blessing.  As  if  by  an  electric  shock.  —  an  impulse  not  to 
be  defined,  —  we  all  fell  on  our  knees,  and  we  received  the 
blessing.  It  was  a  solemn  moment,  a  scene  never  to  be  for- 
gotten, —  those  two  old  men  with  white  hair  blessing  us  from 
the  pulpit  above  us,  death  hovering  over  our  heads  awaiting 
us  and  them.  Half  an  hour  after,  these  priests  were  both 
murdered,  and  we  heard  their  cries." 

Maton,  the  lawyer,  who  was  in  the  prison  of  La  Force, 
says  that  "  at  seven  o'clock  on  Sunday  night/''  the  same  hour 
at  which  Jourgniac  in  the  Abbaye  commenced  his  narrative, 
"  prisoners  began  to  be  frequently  called  out  from  among  us, 
and  they  did  not  reappear.  We  wondered  what  this  might 
mean.  Each  man  had  his  own  opinion,  but  the  majority 


l8o  THE   FRENCH  REVOLUTION, 

of  us  were  persuaded  that  the  memorial  I  had  drawn  up 
for  the  National  Assembly  was  having  its  effect,  and  that 
we  were  about  to  be  liberated.  At  one  in  the  morning 
the  iron  door  which  led  into  our  corridor  was  opened 
anew.  Four  men  in  uniform,  each  with  a  naked  sword 
and  blazing  torch,  came  up  the  passage  preceded  by  a 
turnkey.  They  were  in  search  of  the  adventurer  La  Motte, 
husband  of  the  woman  who  had  planned  the  swindle  of 
the  diamond  necklace,  but  they  did  not  find  him.  We 
heard  them  say,  '  Come,  let  us  search  among  the  corpses.' 
Imagine  what  terror  these  words,  '  Let  us  search  among 
the  corpses,'  threw  us  into.  I  saw  nothing  for  it  but  to  resign 
myself  to  die.  I  wrote  my  last  will,  concluding  it  by  an 
earnest  petition  that  the  paper  should  be  sent  to  its  address. 
Scarcely  had  I  laid  down  the  pen  when  there  came  in  two 
other  men  in  uniform.  One  of  them,  whose  arm  and  sleeve 
up  to  the  very  shoulder  were  covered  with  blood,  said  he 
'was  as  tired  as  a  hodman  who  had  been  beating  plaster.' 
An  old  man  was  called  out.  Sixty  years  of  virtuous  life 
could  not  now  save  him.  They  said  :  '  A  1' Abbaye  ! '  —  which 
was,  in  fact,  his  death  sentence.  He  passed  out  of  the  outer 
gate,  gave  a  cry  of  terror  at  sight  of  the  heaped  corpses, 
covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  and  died  of  innumeiable 
wounds.  At  every  fresh  opening  of  the  grate  I  thought  I 
should  hear  my  own  name  called  and  see  my  murderers 
enter.  I  flung  off  my  night-clothes ;  I  put  on  a  coarse 
dirty  shirt,  a  worn  coat,  no  waistcoat,  and  an  old  round 
hat.  These  things  I  had  sent  for  a  few  days  before,  in  fear 
of  what  might  happen.  The  rooms  on  our  corridor  had 
been  all  emptied  except  ours.  We  were  four  together  whom 
they  seemed  to  have  forgotten.  We  all  prayed  together 
to  be  delivered  from  our  peril.  Baptiste,  our  turnkey,  came 
up  by  himself  to  see  us.  I  took  him  by  the  hands.  I  con- 
jured him  to  save  us.  I  promised  him  a  hundred  louis 
if  he  would  take  rne  home.  A  noise  coming  from  the 
outside  gate  made  him  leave  us  hastily.  The  noise  was 
made  by  a  dozen  or  fifteen  men  armed  to  the  teeth.  We 
lay  flat  to  escape  observation.  We  had  seen  them  from  our 


THE  SEPTEMBER  MASSACRES.  igl 

window.  We  heard  them  cry,  '  Upstairs !  Let  not  one 
escape  ! '  I  took  out  my  penknife,  and*  considered  where 
I  should  stab  myself.  Then  I  reflected  that  the  blade  was 
much  too  short,  and  also  on  religion. 

"  At  last  on  Monday  morning,  September  3,  between  seven 
and  eight  o'clock,  four  men  came  in  with  sabres  and  blud- 
geons. To  one  of  them  Gerard,  my  fellow-townsman, 
whispered  earnestly.  The  result  was  that  his  bribes  and 
promises  induced  them  to  spare  three  of  us.  Me  they 
would  not  spare.  Four  sabres  were  crossed  over  my  breast, 
and  they  led  me  down.  I  was  brought  to  their  bar  before 
a  personage  wearing  the  tricolored  scarf,  a  sign  he  was 
in  office,  who  was  sitting  as  judge.  He  was  a  lame  man, 
lank  and  tall.  He  recognized  me  seven  months  after  in 
the  street,  and  spoke  to  me.  I  have  heard  his  name  was 
Chepy,  and  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  retired  attorney. 
Crossing  the  court,  I  saw  Manuel,  who  was  anxious  to  save 
some  of  the  prisoners,  haranguing  in  his  tricolored  scarf." 

Maton  went  through  a  species  of  trial  which,  by  favor 
of  Chepy,  ended,  not  in  assassination,  but  in  what  he  calls 
his  "  resurrection." 

The  Abbe  Sicard  was  in  the  violon ;  that  is,  a  small  prison 
cell  near  the  guard-house.  About  three  o'clock  Monday 
morning  the  killers  bethought  them  of  this  violon,  and 
began  knocking  at  it  from  the  courtyard.  "  There  were 
three  of  us,"  says  the  Abbe"  Sicard,  "in  this  little  place. 
My  companions  thought  that  they  perceived  a  kind  of 
loft  overhead.  But  the  ceiling  was  very  high ;  only  one 
of  us  could  reach  it  by  mounting  on  the  shoulders  of  both 
the  others.  One  of  them  said  to  me  that  my  life  was  more 
useful  than  theirs.  I  resisted.  They  insisted.  They  would 
take  no  denial.  I  flung  myself  on  the  neck  of  these  two 
deliverers.  Never  was  scene  more  touching.  I  mounted 
on  the  shoulders  of  the  first,  then  on  those  of  the  second  ; 
finally  I  was  in  the  loft,  whence  I  addressed  to  my  two  com- 
rades the  expression  of  a  soul  filled  with  natural  emotions." 

We  are  thankful  to  learn  that  those  two  generous  com- 
panions did  not  perish.  The  Abbe'  Sicard  was  not  found 


1 82  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION'. 

in  his  hiding-place.  Jourgniac  was  brought  before  the 
Tribunal.  He  had*  gained  over  one  of  his  guards  by  speak- 
ing Provencal  to  him.  He  saw  old  Marshal  Maille'  tried  and 
sentenced.  The  marshal  was  eighty  years  old,  the  same  who 
three  weeks  before  had  gone  forth  from  the  Tuileries  with 
the  king  to  address  the  troops  in  the  Carrousel.  The 
presiding  judge,  a  man  in  gray,  was  either  more  merciful 
than  his  associates,  or  he  was  weary  of  his  work,  or  Jour- 
gniac's  defence  really  moved  him.  When  he  had  ended 
his  cross-examination  he  took  off  his  hat  and  said :  "  I  see 
nothing  to  suspect  in  this  man.  I  am  for  giving  him  his 
liberty.  Is  that  your  vote?"  To  which  all  the  judges 
answered:  "  Out/  Oui !  It  is  just!"  Then  arose  shouts 
within  doors  and  without.  The  prisoner  was  escorted  forth 
by  three  men  with  shoutings  and  embracings.  Thus  Jour- 
gniac "  escaped,"  as  he  says  himself,  "  out  of  trial  by  jury 
and  the  jaws  of  death." 

And  all  this  time,  in  one  of  the  courtyards  of  the  Abbaye, 
Billaud-Varennes,  a  member  of  the  existing  government  and 
one  of  the  leading  deputies  from  the  Assembly,  in  his  tight 
puce-colored  coat,  black  wig,  and  scarf  of  office,  was  stand- 
ing among  the  corpses  haranguing  the  killers,  —  les  tueurs,  — 
for  that  was  the  name  by  which  they  were  known.  "  Brave 
citizens,"  he  cried,  "you  are  extirpating  the  enemies  of 
Liberty  !  You  are  doing  your  duty.  A  grateful  Commune 
and  Country  would  wish  to  recompense  you  adequately,  but 
cannot,  for  you  know  its  want  of  funds.  Whosoever  shall 
have  worked  in  a  prison  shall  receive  a  draft  for  One  louis. 
Continue  your  work! '' 

The  pay-roll  of  those  dreadful  days  of  massacre  is  in 
existence  to  this  day. 

Nor  were  these  massacres  of  September  2  and  3  the  only 
work  done  by  the  killers.  Less  than  a  week  later,  on  Sunday, 
September  9,  a  body  of  them  went  out  to  Versailles,  and 
there  earned  more  blood-money  and  the  thanks  of  a  grate- 
ful Committee  of  Public  Safety.  Mr.  Griffith  has  told  us 
how  he  met  them  on  his  way  to  Versailles  returning  to  Paris, 
with  bloody  heads  on  pikes,  and  was  constrained  to  applaud 
their  villany. 


THE  SEPTEMBER  MASSACRES.  183 

A  number  of  prisoners  had  been  sent  to  Orleans  to  be 
tried  as  state  criminals ;  among  them  was  a  whole  cabinet  of 
the  king's  late  ministers.  But  the  new  authorities  thought 
that  they  should  be  brought  up  to  the  capital,  that  so  the  end 
might  be  quicker.  A  wretch,  who  called  himself  Fournier 
the  American,  because  he  was  born  in  Martinique,  was  sent 
down  to  Orleans  to  bring  to  Paris  these  fifty-three  prisoners. 
When  ncaring  Paris,  he  heard  of  the  September  massacres, 
and  was  advised  (or  received  orders)  to  stop  at  Versailles. 
The  prisoners  travelled  in  country  carts,  their  guards,  some 
on  horseback  and  some  on  foot,  marching  around  them.  At 
the  last  village  the  good  mayor  of  Versailles  came  out  to  meet 
them,  being  anxious  for  their  safety.  It  was  Sunday,  Sep- 
tember 9,  and  Versailles  was  full  of  murderers,  who  had  done 
their  work  in  Paris  six  days  before,  and  had  marched  out  to 
Versailles  in  the  expectation  that  more  awaited  them.  As 
the  procession  entered  the  broad  Avenue  of  Versailles,  with 
its  four  rows  of  great  trees,  the  prisoners  found  it  swarming 
with  ferocious  men,  awaiting  their  arrival.  Through  this 
crowd  the  tumbrils  and  their  guards  made  their  way  with  dif- 
ficulty ;  "  the  Mayor,"  says  Carlyle,  "speaking  and  gesturing 
his  persuasivest  amid  the  inarticulate  growling  hum,  which 
growls  ever  the  deeper  even  by  hearing  itself  growl,  not 
without  sharp  yelpings  here  and  there." 

At  last  the  procession  turned  into  a  narrow  street,  and 
here  the  mob  had  the  prisoners  at  a  disadvantage.  The 
murmur  and  the  yelpings  became  a  continuous  yell ;  savage 
figures  sprang  on  to  the  shafts  of  the  tumbrils,  —  the  first 
spray  of  an  endless  coining  tide  !  The  mayor  pleaded  and 
pushed,  half  desperate.  He  was  thrown  down  and  carried 
off  in  men's  arms.  Amid  horrid  noise  and  tumult  as  of  fierce 
wolves,  the  prisoners  sank  massacred,  —  all  but  eleven,  who 
escaped  into  houses  and  found  mercy.  The  prisons,  and 
what  other  prisoners  they  held,  were  with  difficulty  saved. 
The  clothes  stripped  from  the  dead  were  burned  in  bonfires. 
The  corpses  lay  heaped  in  the  gutters  till  the  next  day. 

And  thus  it  was  when  Mr.  Griffith  and  M.  de  Coulanges 
drove  at  nightfall  into  Versailles. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   PR1NCESSE    DE    LAMBALLE.1 

HPHE  Princesse  de  I,amballe,  Marie  Thdrese  Louise  de  Sa- 
•^  voie-Carignan,  was  the  daughter  of  Prince  Louis  Victor 
Joseph,  of  the  house  of  Savoy-Carignan,  fourth  in  descent 
from  Charles  Emmanuel  I.,  Duke  of  Savoy.  She  was  also 
first  cousin  on  her  mother's  side  of  Victor  Amadeus  III.,  King 
of  Sardinia.  It  may  be  further  stated  for  the  relief  of  those 
who  dislike  climbing  genealogical  trees,  that  she  was  the 
great-grand-aunt  of  Victor  Emmanuel,  //  Re  Galantuomo, 
first  king  of  United  Italy.  Born  in  September,  1749,  she 
received  as  she  grew  up  a  careful  education.  Before  she  had 
completed  her  seventeenth  year,  it  had  been  arranged  be- 
tween the  courts  of  Versailles  and  Turin  that  she  should 
marry  the  Prince  de  Lamballe,  a  great-grandson  of  Louis 
XIV.  and  Madame  de  Montespan. 

The  Due  de  Penthievre,  father  of  the  Prince  de  Lamballe, 
was  the  richest  subject  in  France,  his  yearly  income  amount- 
ing to  five  millions  of  francs.  He  was  now  a  widower  with 
two  children,  a  son  and  a  daughter.  His  disposition  was 
grave  almost  to  melancholy.  The  pleasures  of  the  world 
were  distasteful  to  him  ;  and  although  holding  the  office  of 
High  Admiral  of  France,  he  seldom  appeared  at  court.  His 
time  seems  to  have  been  spent  in  attending  to  his  religious 
duties  and  assisting  the  needy  on  his  various  estates,  which 
he  visited  in  regular  succession.  A  more  confirmed  rake 
than  his  son,  the  Prince  de  Lamballe,  was  not  to  be  found  ; 
it  was  with  a  view  of  steadying  him,  if  possible,  that  his  father 
persuaded  him  to  marry.  The  monotony  of  domestic  life, 
however,  soon  wearied  the  Prince  de  Lamballe,  and  he  re- 

1  From  an  article  in  "  Temple  Bar." 


PRINCESSE  DE  LAMBALLE 


THE  PRINCESSE  DE  LAMBALLE.  185 

turned  to  his  old  habits.  The  vicious  example  of  his  cousin, 
the  Due  de  Chartres,  encouraged  him  in  this  course  till 
death  cut  short  his  disreputable  career. 

After  a  short  time  spent  in  retirement  in  the  Abbaye  de 
St.  Antoine,  the  young  widow  joined  her  father-in-law  and 
his  daughter  at  the  Chateau  de  Rambouillet.  Here  she 
threw  herself  with  zest  into  the  simple  amusements  of  coun- 
try life,  gardening  with  Mademoiselle  de  Penthievre,  reading 
with  the  poet  Florian  (a  member  of  the  household),  and  sec- 
onding the  duke  in  his  deeds  of  benevolence.  He  used 
sometimes  to  call  her  Marie  lafolle,  so  exuberant  were  her 
spirits  in  those  days. 

When  Marie  Antoinette  became  dauphine  of  France,  in 
1770,  she  found  sympathy  and  friendship  in  the  Princesse  de 
Lamballe,  five  years  older  than  herself.  It  was  a  welcome 
surprise  to  meet  this  good,  sweet-tempered,  sprightly  com- 
panion in  a  court  at  once  formal  and  corrupt.  On  be- 
coming queen  she  revived,  in  favor  of  the  princess,  the 
lucrative  office  of  superintendent  of  the  household  of  the 
queen,  a  post  which  as  a  piece  of  state  economy  had  been 
abolished  some  years  before.  This  led  to  animadversion  and 
grumbling  in  several  quarters. 

The  close  friendship  between  the  queen  and  the  princess 
was  for  a  short  time, ruffled  by  the  fancy  taken  up  by  the 
former  for  a  far  less  worthy  favorite,  Madame  de  Polignac. 
This  lady  till  then  had  been  living  in  needy  obscurity.  She 
was  by  the  queen's  favor  advanced  to  an  important  post 
at  court ;  and  her  husband,  Comte  Jules  de  Polignac,  was 
created  a  duke  and  appointed  director-general  of  the  posts, 
a  lucrative  position. 

Madame  d'Oberkirch,  an  Alsatian  lady,  who  travelled  in 
1782  with  the  Grand  Duke  Peter  and  his  charming  wife 
(born  Princess  Dorothy  of  Montbelliard),  thus  writes  to  the 
grand  duchess,  her  friend  and  former  school-fellow  :  — 

"  The  Princesse  de  Lamballe  is  very  pretty,  though  her 
features  are  not  regular.  She  is  lively  and  playful,  but  without, 
I  should  say,  much  talent.  She  avoids  discussions,  and  agrees 
with  you  at  once  rather  than  embark  on  an  argument.  She  is 


1 86  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

a  sweet,  kind,  obliging  woman,  incapable  of  an  evil  thought. 
The  shaft  of  calumny  has  always  failed  to  reach  her.  A  widow 
at  nineteen,  she  has  since  devoted  herself  entirely  to  her  father- 
in-law  and  the  queen.  She  gives  immensely  in  charity,  more 
than  she  can  afford,  often  depriving  herself  of  many  things  that 
she  may  the  more  effectually  assist  the  poor.  She  is  called 
'  the  good  angel '  by  the  people  on  the  different  estates  of  the 
Due  de  Penthievre." 

Meantime  the  Revolution  was  approaching.  The  mutter- 
ings  of  the  coming  storm,  long  heard  in  the  distance,  sounded 
louder  and  nearer.  The  Comte  d'Artois  and  many  of  the 
nobles  hastened  to  emigrate.  The  Polignacs  escaped  to  the 
frontier  under  a  feigned  name. 

On  the  evening  of  the  2ist  of  June,  1791,  the  day  of 
the  king's  flight  to  Varennes,  Madame  de  Lamballe  set  out 
for  Aumale,  where  the  Due  de  Penthievre  and  his  daughter, 
the  Duchesse  d'Orleans  1  (mother  of  Louis  Philippe),  were 
living.  Quickly  explaining  what  had  taken  place,  she  urged 
them  to  accompany  her  in  her  flight  to  England,  whence 
she  hoped  to  rejoin  the  queen ;  but  as  they  were  not  to  be 
persuaded,  she  was  off  again  as  soon  as  her  horses  had  been 
changed.  She  reached  Boulogne  the  following  morning, 
and,  finding  an  English  ship  about  to  sail  for  Dover,  she 
embarked  immediately.  At  Dover  she,  stayed  two  days,  and 
then  proceeded  via  Ostend  to  Brussels,  where  she  received 
news  from  the  Count  de  Fersen  of  the  capture  of  the  royal 
party  at  Varennes.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  go  back  to 
France  without  delay,  but  those  about  her  who  were  building 

1  This  lady,  divorced  from  her  dissolute  husband,  lived  after- 
wards in  great  poverty  at  Genoa.  My  father  in  1810  was  asked  by 
the  admiral  at  Gibraltar  to  carry  her  a  box  of  valuables  without 
charging  freight  on  it,  the  perquisite  of  captains  of  men-of-war  who 
undertook  the  responsibility  of  conveying  specie  or  jewelry.  "The 
poor  old  lady  can't  afford  to  pay,"  said  the  admiral.  My  father 
gladly  undertook  the  commission,  and  used  to  give  an  amusing  ac- 
count of  being  invited  by  the  duchess  to  dinner.  The  state  was 
great,  the  viands  scanty,  and  the  story  always  ended  with,  "  Luckily 
I  was  dismissed  in  time  to  get  on  board  Sir  Charles  Cotton's  ship,  and 
eat  a  supplementary  dinner."  —  E.  W.  L. 


THE  PRINCESSE  DE  LAMBALLE.  187 

their  hopes  on  the  advance  of  the  Duke  of  Brunswick  and 
the  emigres,  persuaded  her  to  remain  at  a  distance  watching 
events.  She  did  not  adopt  the  views  of  the  French  tmigrt 
nobles  collected  at  Coblentz.  She  shared  the  distrust  which 
the  queen  had  always  felt  of  the  Comte  de  Provence,  who 
was  already  aspiring  to  the  dignity  of  regent  of  France  ;  and 
she  knew  that  the  intrigues  of  the  Emigres  only  irritated  the 
Revolutionists,  and  added  to  the  difficulties  of  the  king,  now 
little  better  than  a  prisoner  in  his  palace  of  the  Tuileries. 

As  time  went  on,  the  news  from  Paris  became  blacker  and 
blacker,  and  the  tone  of  the  queen's  letters  more  hopeless. 
Her  Majesty  continued  to  adjure  her  friend  to  remain  out 
of  harm's  way ;  yet  occasionally  a  cry  escaped  her  which 
proved  that  she  yearned  for  her  presence.  There  is  the 
ring  of  real  despair  in  the  following  letter,  which  the  princess 
received  on  the  i3th  of  October,  1791  :  — 

"  I  am  heart-broken  at  what  I  see  passing  around  me,  and 
can  only  entreat  you  not  to  come  back.  The  present  moment 
is  too  terrible.  Although  I  have  courage  enough  on  my  own 
account,  I  cannot  help  feeling  uneasy  for  my  friends,  more 
especially  for  one  so  precious  as  you.  I  do  not  therefore  wish 
you  to  expose  yourself  uselessly  to  danger.  It  is  already  as 
much  as  I  can  do  to  face  circumstances  calmly,  at  the  side  of 
the  king  and  my  children.  Farewell,  then,  dear  heart.  Give 
me  your  pity,  since  from  the  very  love  I  bear  you  your  absence 
is  perhaps  a  greater  trial  to  me  than  it  is  to  you." 

If  Madame  de  Lamballe  had  hesitated  before,  hesitation 
was  at  an  end  on  the  receipt  of  this  letter.  On  the  isth, 
she  made  her  will ;  on  the  i6th  she  set  out  for  France. 
Four  months  had  elapsed  since  she  and  the  queen  had  been 
parted,  and  in  that  brief  space  what  a  change  had  come  over 
Marie  Antoinette !  She  looked  ten  years  older ;  her  bright 
color  had  fled  ;  her  hair  was  gray.  She  had  prepared  a  gift 
for  the  princess,  which  she  presented  to  her  on  their  meet- 
ing. It  was  a  ring  containing  some  of  her  hair  with  the  in- 
scription, Blanchis  par  le  malheur. 

Madame  de  Lamballe  at  once  became  an  object  of  suspi- 
cion to  the  Jacobin  party.  Everything  she  did  was  watched 


!88  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

and  misrepresented.  Newspaper  attacks  on  her  were  fre- 
quent. The  public  mind  was  inflamed  against  her.  She 
was  able  to  pay  only  two  brief  visits  to  iier  father-in-law,  the 
Due  de  Penthievre,  after  her  return.  The  duke  was  natu- 
rally averse  to  her  remaining  in  Paris,  but  there  she  conceived 
was  her  proper  post,  and  thither  she  returned.  When  she 
left  the  duke  for  the  last  time,  he  observed  to  one  of  his 
attendants  :  "  My  daughter's  devotion  to  the  queen  is  most 
praiseworthy  ;  but  in  going  back  to  her  she  is  making  a  great 
sacrifice.  Je  tremble  qu'elle  n'en  soit  victime" 

In  all  the  humiliations  and  dangers  to  which  the  king  and 
queen  were  thenceforth  exposed,  the  Princesse  de  Lamballe 
shared.  When,  on  the  2oth  of  June,  1792,  a  rabble  army 
of  men  and  women  carrying  pikes,  hatchets,  and  knives, 
broke  into  the  palace,  she  was  at  the  queen's  side,  enduring 
for  two  long  hours  their  threats  and  insults.  Through  the 
anxious  night  of  the  gth  of  August,  when  an  attack  on  the 
Tuileries  was  momentarily  expected,  she  remained  with 
the  queen  and  Madame  Elisabeth  in  the  cabinet  adjoining 
the  council-chamber.  With  them  she  listened  as  there  broke 
forth  from  the  church  towers  far  and  near  the  sound  of  the 
tocsin,  —  the  death-knell  of  the  monarchy.  After  watching 
the  sun  rise  in  the  sky  ominously  red,  she  repaired  to  her 
own  rooms,  where  her  attendants  were  collected,  awaiting 
events.  She  stood  a  moment  at  a  window  overlooking  the 
Pont  Royal,  and  gazed  at  the  excited  crowds  hurrying  along 
the  quays.  One  of  her  ladies  now  observed  a  cloud  on  the 
princess's  usually  cheerful  face,  and,  thinking  to  encourage 
her,  said  :  "  Let  us  hope  that  the  day  of  our  deliverance  has 
at  last  come  ;  the  king's  adherents  are  more 'numerous  than 
you  think ;  "  and  she  pointed  to  the  soldiers  guarding  the 
bridge,  picked  men  from  the  battalion  of  the  Filles  St. 
Thomas,  the  only  loyal  section  of  the  National  Guard.  But 
the  princess's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  answered :  "  No, 
no  ;  nothing  can  save  us  now.  I  feel  that  we  are  lost." 

As  daylight  increased,  the  beating  of  drums  and  rumble  of 
the  cannon  of  the  Marseillais  announced  the  approach  of  the 
insurgents.  About  seven,  Louis  XVI.  yielded  to  the  advice 


THE  PRINCESSE  DE  LAMBALLE.  189 

of  those  around  him  and  quitted  the  palace  with  his  family, 
to  seek  the  treacherous  protection  of  the  Assembly.  Madame 
de  Lamballe  and  Madame  de  Tourzel  were  the  only  ladies 
permitted  to  go  with  them.  On  entering  the  Assembly,  the 
king  took  his  seat  beside  the  president.  The  queen,  the 
children,  and  the  ladies  were  conducted  to  the  benches 
reserved  for  foreign  ministers,  but,  one  of  the  deputies  object- 
ing to  the  presence  of  the  sovereign  during  a  debate,  they 
were  removed  to  the  loge  du  logographe,  or  reporter's  box,  — 
a  sort  of  cage,  ten  feet  square,  railed  off  from  the  hall. 
Hardly  had  this  change  been  made,  when  the  roar  of  cannon 
and  the  rattle  of  musketry  proved  that  the  conflict  at  the 
palace  had  begun.  The  din  increased  each  moment.  The 
walls  and  roof  of  the  Assembly  were  struck  by  bullets ;  the 
doors  were  assailed  with  violence ;  there  was  a  panic  among 
the  deputies,  many  of  whom  sprang  from  their  seats  in  alarm. 
Presently  cries  of  victory  were  heard  from  without.  A  mes- 
senger burst  in  to  announce  that  the  palace  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  populace,  and  that  the  Swiss  Guards  were  in  flight. 
Thereupon  from  the  hall  and  from  the  galleries  rose  shouts 
of  "  Vive  la  nation  !  Vive  la  liberte  !  '\ 

The  heat  in  the  reporter's  box  on  that  long  summer  day  was 
suffocating.  The  royal  family  and  the  two  ladies  remained 
there  sixteen  hours,  during  which  a  decree  was  passed  suspend- 
ing the  authority  of  the  king.  It  was  not  till  one  o'clock  in 
the  morning  of  the  i  ith  that  they  were  taken  to  an  adjacent 
building,  where  four  small  rooms  had  been  prepared  for  them. 

Madame  de  Tourzel  was  in  great  anxiety  about  her  daugh- 
ter Pauline,  a  girl  of  seventeen,  who  had  been  left  in  the 
Tuileries.  Happily  she  was  safe,  and  during  this  day  ob- 
tained leave  to  join  her  mother. 

By  nine  o'clock  the  party  was  back  again  in  the  reporter's 
box.  Dr.  John  Moore,  an  Englishman,  then  in  Paris,  who 
saw  them  on  this  day,  thus  describes  them  : *  — 

"  From  the  place  where  I  sat  I  could  not  see  the  king,  but  I 
had  a  full  view  of  the  queen.  Her  beauty  is  gone.  No  wonder ! 

1  Dr.  Moore's  account  agrees  minutely  with  Mr.  Griffith's. 


THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

She  seemed  to  listen  with  an  undisturbed  air  to  the  speakers. 
Sometimes  she  whispered  to  her  sister-in-law  or  to  the  Princesse 
de  Lamballe.  Once  or  twice  she  stood  up,  and  leaning  forward 
suiveyed  every  part  of  the  hall.  A  person  near  me  remarked 
that  her  face  indicated  rage  and  the  most  provoking  arrogance. 
I  perceived  nothing  of  that  nature,  although  the  turn  of  the 
debate,  as  well  as  the  remarks  made  by  some  of  the  members, 
must  have  appeared  to  her  highly  insolent.  On  the  whole,  her 
behavior  in  this  most  trying  situation  was  full  of  propriety  and 
dignified  composure." 

The  following  day,  Sunday,  was  spent  in  like  manner ;  on 
Monday  they  were  removed  to  the  Temple.  Pe'tion,  the 
mayor,  and  Manuel,  the  procureur  of  the  Commune,  accom- 
panied them. 

A  dense  crowd  lined  the  streets.  In  the  Place  Vendome 
there  was  a  halt  that  the  king  and  his  party  might  witness  the 
overthrow  of  the  statue  of  Louis  XIV.,  to  be  succeeded  ten 
years  later  by  the  column  to  the  Victories  of  France,  under 
Napoleon  Bonaparte. 

It  was  dusk  when  the  sad  party  reached  the  Temple,  which, 
prison  though  it  was,  must  have  seemed  to  them  a  refuge. 
The  queen,  on  hearing  that  they  were  to  be  removed  to  the 
Temple,  had  implored  Madame  de  Lamballe  to  leave  her 
and  seek  an  asylum  with  the  Due  de  Penthievre  or  in 
England ;  but  the  princess,  constant  in  her  devotion,  refused. 
She  was  not  suffered  long  to  remain  the  stay  and  comforter 
of  her  royal  friend.  A  week  later,  on  the  igih  of  August, 
municipal  officers  carried  off  the  princess  and  Madame  de 
Tourzel,  saying  they  were  wanted  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville  to  be 
examined  concerning  some  secret  correspondence.  The 
parting  of  Marie  Antoinette  and  of  Madame  Elisabeth  from 
the  friends  who  had  shared  both  their  prosperity  and  adver- 
sity was  heart-rending.  "They  clung  together,"  says  Hue 
(a  valet  of  the  king,  who  was  present),  "  with  arms  intertwined, 
uttering  des  tendres  et  dechirantes  adieux" 

After  a  brief  examination  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  the  two 
ladies  and  Pauline  were  taken  to  the  prison  of  La  Force. 
This  prison,  traces  of  which  have  been  long  swept  away, 


THE  PRINCESSE  DE  LAMBALLE.  191 

consisted  of  two  separate  buildings  in  one  enclosure,  the 
Grande  and  the  Petite  Force.  In  the  latter,  where  only 
women  were  confined,  principally  thieves  and  debtors,  the 
three  ladies  were  placed  in  different  cells  ;  but  the  next  day, 
on  Manuel's  visiting  them,  he  yielded  to  their  joint  entreaties 
and  reunited  them  in  one  good-sized  room.  Here  they 
passed  ten  days  together. 

On  the  i  gth  of  August,  news  reached  Paris  that  the  Prus- 
sians had  taken  Longwy  on  their  march  to  the  capital.  The 
fury  of  the  populace  passed  all  bounds.  The  gates  of  Paris 
were  closed,  and  hundreds  of  suspected  persons  were  thrown 
into  prison.  The  Commune  (that  is,  the  municipality  at  the 
Hotel  de  Ville)  assumed  the  government ;  and  the  Assembly, 
completely  awed,  neither  remonstrated  nor  objected. 

When  the  Due  de  Penthievre,  after  an  interval  of  terrible 
suspense,  learned  that  his  daughter-in-law  had  been  removed 
to  La  Force,  he  sent  a  messenger  to  Manuel  offering  him 
any  sum  he  chose  to  name  for  her  release.  Overtures  of  the 
like  nature  in  favor  of  the  Tourzels  are  believed  to  have 
been  made  by  members  of  their  family. 

At  midnight  on  Saturday,  the  ist  September,  as  the  pris- 
oners were  asleep,  the  door  of  their  room  was  opened,  and 
a  voice  said,  "  Mademoiselle  de  Tourzel,  get  up  at  once  and 
follow  me."  It  was  no  time  to  ask  questions ;  Pauline  rose, 
and,  having  dressed  with  all  speed,  went  out.  She  found  a 
member  of  the  Commune  named  Hardy  awaiting  her.  He 
took  her  to  a  room  below,  gave  her  a  peasant's  costume, 
which  she  slipped  over  her  own  clothes,  and  led  her  away. 

"  You  can  imagine,"  writes  Madame  de  Tourzel  subse- 
quently, in  a  letter  describing  these  events,  "  whether  I  slept 
again  or  not  after  Pauline  was  gone.  When  our  breakfast 
was  brought  we  were  told  that  Paris  had  been  in  a  state  of 
commotion  since  the  previous  evening,  that  massacres  were 
expected,  that  the  prisons  were  threatened,  —  indeed,  that 
many  had  been  broken  into  already.  I  then  felt  sure  that  it 
was  in  order  to  save  Pauline  that  they  had  removed  her, 
and  my  only  remaining  regret  was  at  not  knowing  whither 
she  had  been  taken.  I  saw  plainly  enough  the  fate  in  store 


192  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

for  the  Princesse  de  Lamballe  and  myself.  I  will  not  say 
that  I  saw  it  without  dread,  but  I  was  able  to  endure  the 
idea  at  least  with  resignation.  It  seemed  to  me  that  pres- 
ence of  mind  alone  would  enable  me  to  surmount  the  dan- 
gers before  me,  and  I  ceased  to  think  of  anything  except 
how  to  preserve  it.  This  was  by  no  means  easy,  for  the 
extreme  agitation  of  my  unhappy  companion,  the  questions 
she  kept  asking  me,  the  terrible  conjectures  she  formed, 
almost  deprived  me  of  what  courage  I  had.  I  tried  to 
reassure  and  calm  her;  but  finding  this  impossible,  I 
proposed  that  we  should  cease  talking,  since  we  only  in- 
creased our  fears  by  exchanging  them." 

Towards  evening  the  two  were  suddenly  summoned  and 
taken  down  into  a  courtyard,  "where,"  says  Madame  de 
Tourzel,  "  were  many  other  prisoners,  and  a  multitude  of 
shabbily  clad,  savage-looking  men,  most  of  whom  were 
drunk." 

As  they  stood  there  bewildered,  a  man  with  a  more  respec- 
table air  than  the  rest  approached  Madame  de  Tourzel,  and 
let  drop  the  words,  "  Your  daughter  is  saved."  The  speaker 
was  none  other  than  Hardy,  who  had  rescued  Pauline  the 
night  before.  In  Tier  brief  colloquy  with  him  and  other 
bystanders,  Madame  de  Tourzel  had  her  attention  occupied 
a  few  moments.  When  she  looked  round  the  princess  had 
disappeared. 

The  courtyard  was  getting  emptied  by  degrees.  The 
prisoners,  she  was  told,  were  being  taken  one  by  one  to 
undergo  a  trial,  after  which  they  were  either  let  off  or  killed 
by  the  people  stationed  outside.  At  length  she  was  herself 
called  and  led  before  the  judges.  The  knowledge  that 
Pauline  was  safe,  and  that  her  own  rescue  was  intended  by 
Hardy,  for  so  he  had  informed  her,  gave  her  courage.  Her 
interrogation  over,  Hardy  and  ten  others  surrounded  her 
and  conducted  her  into  the  street,  where  the  ruffians  em- 
ployed to  butcher  the  defenceless  prisoners  were  collected. 
A  cry  was  raised  that  an  aristocrat  was  being  allowed  to 
escape  ;  but,  thanks  to  the  boldness  of  her  escort,  Madame 
de  Tourzel  was  dragged  unharmed  through  the  mob,  and 


THE  PRINCESSE  DE  LAMBALLE.  193 

hurried  forward  till  a.  fiacre  was  obtained.  Into  this  she  was 
pushed,  her  deliverers  mounting  after  her,  some  inside  and 
some  out.  They  were  then  driven  at  full  speed  to  the  house 
in  which  Pauline  had  taken  refuge.  On  the  way  there, 
Madame  de  Tourzel  made  eager  inquiries  as  to  what  had 
become  of  the  Princesse  de  Lamballe ;  but  at  mention  of 
that  name,  Hardy  shook  his  head,  and  was  silent,  adding 
after  a  moment  that  he  would  have  saved  her  too,  had  it 
been  in  his  power. 

By  night  the  prison  of  La  Petite  Force  was  empty.  Of 
those  shut  up  there,  many  had  been  slain,  some  liberated, 
and  a  few  transferred  to  La  Grande  Force  to  be  dealt  with 
later.  Among  these  was  the  princess,  who  when  Madame 
de  Tourzel  lost  sight  of  her  in  the  courtyard  was  already  on 
her  way  to  her  new  cell.  Her  removal  from  one  part  of  the 
building  to  another,  just  when  many  of  her  fellow-captives 
were  set  free,  shows  that  the  Commune  was  determined  to 
sacrifice  her.  That  Manuel  himself  wished  to  save  her 
seems  not  unlikely ;  yet  to  have  pleaded  with  his  ferocious 
colleagues  for  the  life  of  this  particular  prisoner,  the  friend 
of  Marie  Antoinette,  branded  with  the  odious  name  of  Bour- 
bon, might  have  brought  suspicion  ana  ruin  on  himself. 
He  was  therefore  content  with  directing  some  of  the  hired 
assassins  to  assist  in  her  rescue,  —  if  occasion  offered. 

In  this  same  prison  of  La  Force,  on  this  same  Sunday 
night,  was  the  lawyer  Maton,  who  tells  us  in  his  narrative 
that  "  one  prisoner  after  another  was  torn  from  us  to  meet 
his  fate.  At  every  opening  of  the  grate  I  expected  to  hear 
them  call  my  name." 

About  six  o'clock  on  Monday  morning  (September  3), 
about  the  time  Maton  was  led  before  the  tribunal  and  ac- 
quitted, there  came  a  lull.  The  "  killers  "  had  gone  to  re- 
fresh themselves  with  wine,  and  to  receive  payment  from 
the  Commune  for  their  night's  work. 

Worn  out  with  fatigue,  and  already  half  dead  from  excite- 
ment and  fright,  the  princess  flung  herself  upon  her  pallet 
and  possibly  yielded  to  a  hope  that  all  was  over.  But  she 
had  not  long  lain  there  when  the  door  of  her  cell  was  thrown 

13 


IQ4  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

open,  and  two  rough-looking  men  in  the  uniform  of  the 
National  Guard  entered.  They  told  her  to  get  up  and  come 
with  them  directly,  as  it  was  intended  to  remove  her  to  the 
Abbaye.  She  replied  that  as  all  prisons  were  alike  to  her, 
she  was  as  ready  to  remain  in  her  present  one  as  to  go  to 
another;  she  entreated  them  therefore  to  leave  her  where 
she  was.  Upon  this  they  departed,  but  only  to  reappear 
after  a  short  absence  and  inform  her  that  obey  she  must,  for 
her  life  depended  on  it.  At  the  same  moment  the  noise 
outside  the  prison  recommenced,  and  loud  cries  of  "  La 
Lamballe  !  La  Lamballe  !  "  reached  her  ears. 

Leaning  on  the  arm  of  one  of  the  men,  —  she  was  too 
weak  to  walk  alone,  —  she  descended  to  the  prison  hall, 
where  the  men  acting  as  judges  were  seated  with  the 
jail  register  open  before  them.  The  hall  was  filled  with 
armed  executioners,  whose  hands,  faces,  and  clothes  were 
stained  with  blood  ;  while  from  the  gateway  came  the  yells 
of  the  mob,  calling  for  a  fresh  victim.  On  entering  this 
scene  of  horror,  the  princess  fainted  away  and  remained  in 
that  state  several  minutes  upheld  by  her  two  conductors. 
She  regained  her  senses  presently,  but  the  awful  reality  to 
which  she  awoke  made  her  swoon  afresh.  At  length  she 
seemed  to  have  revived  sufficiently  to  undergo  her  interro- 
gation. The  following,  according  to  particulars  obtained 
from  an  eye-witness,  were  the  questions  asked  her  and  the 
answers  she  gave  :  — 

"Your  name?" 

"  Maria  Louisa,  Princess  of  Savoy." 

"  Your  condition  ?  " 

"  Superintendent  of  the  queen's  household." 

"  Were  you  aware  of  the  conspiracies  at  court  on  the 
loth  of  August?" 

"If  there  were  any  conspiracies  on  the  loth  of  August,  I 
had  no  knowledge  of  them." 

"  Then  swear  to  love  liberty  and  equality,  and  to  hate  the 
king,  queen,  and  royalty." 

"  I  will  take  the  first  oath,  but  not  the  second.  It  is  not 
in  my  heart."  Here  somebody  standing  by  —  probably 


THE  PRINCESSE  DE  LAMBALLE.  195 

one  of  Manuel's  emissaries  —  whispered  in  her  ear,  "  Swear, 
or  you  are  a  dead  woman." 

The  prisoner  made  no  reply,  but,  raising  both  her  hands, 
pressed  them  against  her  eyes  as  though  to  shut  out  some 
hateful  vision.  At  the  same  time  one  of  the  judges  gave 
the  usual  signal  of  dismission,  saying,  "  Let  Madame  be  set 
at  liberty."  This  sentence,  like  "  Take  her  to  the  Abbaye," 
meant  that  she  was  condemned.  The  princess  no  doubt 
interpreted  the  words  literally,  for,  on  hearing  them,  she 
turned  and  made  a  step  towards  the  gate.  Thereupon  two 
of  the  murderers  caught  hold  of  her  by  either  arm,  and  led 
her  out  between  them,  with  the  intention,  it  may  be,  of  sav- 
ing her  if  they  could.  But  on  getting  outside,  among  the 
tigers  in  human  form  surging  around  her,  on  seeing  the 
ground  strewn  with  corpses,  on  hearing  the  savage  yells  that 
greeted  her  appearance,  her  senses  again  forsook  her,  and 
she  fell  backwards  between  the  men,  who  continued  to  drag 
her  along.  Instantly  she  received  on  the  head  a  blow  from 
a  bludgeon  ;  this  was  followed  by  a  stroke  from  a  sabre,  and 
then  a  rain  of  pike-thrusts  brought  her  to  the  ground.  But 
her  martyrdom  was  not  yet  complete.  Before  death  came 
to  her  release  she  had  undergone  tortures  and  indignities 
from  which  we  would  willingly  avert  our  eyes,  and  after  death 
her  body  was  treated  with  unparalleled  barbarity  and  a  bru- 
tality too  revolting  to  be  here  described. 

After  the  removal  of  the  princess  and  Madame  de  Tourzel 
from  the  Temple,  the  dauphin  had  been  taught  by  his  mother 
a  little  prayer  for  each,  which  he  repeated  daily  at  her  knee. 
The  first  question  the  king  and  queen  always  put  to  Manuel, 
when  he  came,  as  he  often  did,  to  visit  the  Temple,  was  how 
it  fared  with  the  prisoners  at  La  Force,  his  answer  being 
usually  that  they  were  en  silrete,  or  else  tranquilles.  The 
latter  was  his  report  on  the  third  day  of  September  at  eleven 
o'clock.  Probably  he  had  not  the  heart  to  tell  what  had 
really  happened. 

The  king's  personal  attendant,  Clery,  vividly  describes 
what  took  place  in  the  Temple  that  same  afternoon  :  — 

"  While  the  king  and  queen  were  at  dinner,  the  beating 


196  THE  FREXCH  REVOLUTION'. 

of  drums  and  the  cries  of  the  populace  were  distinctly 
heard.  The  royal  family  quitted  the  dining-room  in  con- 
siderable alarm,  and  assembled  in  the  queen's  room,  while 
I  went  down  to  dine  with  Tison  and  his  wife,  who  were  on 
service  in  the  Temple.  We  had  hardly  taken  our  seats 
when  a  head  on  the  point  of  a  pike  was  held  up  to  the 
window.  Tison's  wife  gave  a  loud  scream.  The  barbarians 
outside  evidently  thought  it  was  the  queen's  voice,  for  we 
heard  them  laughing  immoderately.  Imagining  that  her 
Majesty  must  be  still  at  table,  they  held  their  trophy  in  such 
a  position  that  had  she  been  in  the  room  she  could  not 
have  helped  seeing  it.  It  was  the  head  of  the  Princesse  de 
Lamballe.  Although  marked  with  blood,  it  was  not  dis- 
figured;  her  fair  hair,  still  in  curl,  waved  round  the  end  of 
the  pike.  I  rushed  at  once  to  the  king.  Terror  had  so 
altered  my  expression  that  the  queen  observed  it ;  but  it  was 
important  to  hide  from  her  the  cause.  All  I  wanted  was  to 
warn  the  king  or  Madame  Elisabeth.  However,  there  were 
two  municipal  officers  in  the  room.  The  queen  inquired 
why  I  was  not  at  dinner.  I  told  her  I  was  not  feeling  well. 
Just  then  another  officer  of  the  Commune  entered,  and  began 
conferring  mysteriously  with  his  colleagues.  The  king  begged 
them  to  let  him  know  if  their  lives  were  in  danger. 

"  '  The  report  has  got  about,'  replied  they,  '  that  you  and 
your  family  are  no  longer  in  the  Temple,  and  the  people  are 
calling  for  you,  if  you  are  here,  to  show  yourselves  at  the 
window.  But  this  we  are  not  going  to  allow.  Good  citi- 
zens should  display  more  confidence  in  their  officials.'  All 
this  time  the  uproar  without  went  on  increasing,  and  we 
could  hear  a  volley  of  abusive  language  levelled  at  the 
queen.  Another  officer  of  the  Commune  then  walked  in, 
followed  by  four  men  deputed  by  the  people,  to  certify  to 
the  presence  of  the  prisoners.  One  of  these  last,  who  wore 
the  uniform  of  a  National  Guard  with  epaulettes  on  his 
shoulders  and  a  long  sabre  in  his  hand,  insisted  that  their 
Majesties  should  appear  at  the  window.  The  other  officers, 
however,  still  objecting,  he  brutally  addressed  the  queen : 
'  They  only  want  to  prevent  your  seeing  La  Lamballe's  head, 


THE  PRINCESSE  DE  LAMBALLE.  197 

which  has  been  brought  to  let  you  see  how  the  people  avenge 
themselves  on  their  tyrants.  I  advise  you  to  appear,  there- 
fore, unless  you  wish  the  people  to  come  up  here.' 

"  On  hearing  these  words,  the  queen  sank  down  in  a 
fainting-fit.  I  flew  to  her  assistance,  and,  with  the  aid  of 
Madame  Elisabeth,  placed  her  in  a  chair,  where  her  chil- 
dren, bursting  into  tears,  strove  to  bring  her  to  herself.  As 
the  man  who  had  spoken  seemed  disposed  to  linger  in  the 
room,  the  king  said  to  him  sternly,  'We  are  prepared  for 
anything,  monsieur ;  but  you  might  have  spared  the  queen 
the  knowledge  of  this  terrible  calamity.'  The  fellow  then 
departed  with  his  comrades;  their  object  in  coming  was 
accomplished." 

There  were  other  hearts  to  be  wrung  at  tidings  of  the  fate 
of  the  Princesse  de  Lamballe  besides  thos«  of  the  captives  in 
the  Temple.  News  of  the  crime  reached  Vernon,  where  the 
Due  de  Penthievre  was  living,  at  midnight  on  September  3  ; 
but  the  old  man  was  not  told  of  it.  It  was  broken  gently  to 
the  Duchesse  d'Orleans  in  the  morning ;  and  she,  stifling  her 
own  anguish  as  best  she  could,  had  to  decide  how  the  cruel 
truth  should  be  conveyed  to  her  father,  his  state  of  health 
being  such  that  it  was  thought  dangerous  to  cause  him  too 
sudden  a  shock.  A  plan  was  at  last  agreed  upon  and  adopted. 
It  was  early,  —  not  seven  o'clock,  —  and  the  duke  still  slept. 
On  awaking  he  found  his  daughter,  his  chaplain,  his  physician, 
and  his  secretary,  with  others  of  his  household,  seated  in  his 
bedroom.  He  looked  inquiringly  from  face  to  face  ;  but  no 
one  smiled,  no  one  spoke.  There  was  a  deep,  significant 
silence,  broken  at  length  by  the  sobs  of  the  duchess,  who 
had  hidden  her  face  in  her  hands.  Then  the  truth  dawned 
on  him.  His  worst  fears  had  been  realized ;  his  cherished 
daughter-in-law  was  no  more.  Raising  his  clasped  hands 
heavenwards,  he  exclaimed,  "Oh,  my  God,  thou  knowest, 
I  think  I  can  have  nothing  to  reproach  myself  for ! " 

His  first  emotion  over,  he  became  calm  ;  but  from  that 
day  he  drooped  and  declined.  Six  months  later  he  was 
carried  to  his  grave. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   KING. 

the  one  hundredth  anniversary  of  the  execution  of 
King  Louis  XVI.,  Jan.  21,  1893,  the  "  Figaro,"  in  its 
"  Supplement  Litte'raire,"  published  the  most  complete  and 
authentic  account  obtainable  of  his  last  hours,  illustrated 
by  copies  of  the  street  placards  circulated  among  the  popu- 
lace in  the  streets  of  Paris.  This  account  is  here  republished 
in  translation. 

.  An  overwhelming  majority  in  the  National  Convention  had, 
on  Dec.  26,  1793,  pronounced  the  king  guilty  of  "treason 
to  the  nation."  Then  came  the  question  what  should  be  his 
punishment.  All  the  deputies,  seven  hundred  and  forty-nine 
in  number,  were  at  their  posts,  except  forty  who  were  absent 
on  missions ;  and  it  was  voted  that  the  session  should  not 
close  until  the  question  was  decided. 

Eye-witnesses  have  told  us  of  the  scene  of  this  third 
voting,  and  of  the  votings  that  grew  out  of  it.  The  session 
lasted,  with  a  few  brief  intervals,  from  Wednesday  to  Sunday 
morning.  Long  nights  wore  into  days  ;  the  paleness  of  the 
morning  spread  over  all  faces ;  again  and  again  the  wintry 
shadows  sank,  and  the  dim  lamps  were  lit  in  the  Assembly, 
while  member  after  member  mounted  the  tribune  steps  to 
speak  his  fateful  word. 

As  man  after  man  mounts,  the  buzz  is  hushed  till  he  has 
spoken,  '•'  Death,"  <r  Banishment,"  or  "  Imprisonment  till 
the  Peace."  Many  say,  "  Death  ;  "  many  too  say,  "  Banish- 
ment." The  unhappy  Girondists,  who  would  willingly  have 
saved  the  king,  are  driven  by  fear  for  their  own  lives  to  vote 


THE  KING.  199 

for  " Death."  Manuel \  voted  for  "  Banishment."  Philippe 
Egalite',  late  the  Due  d'Orle'ans,  the  king's  cousin,  father  of 
young  Louis  Philippe,  —  then  fighting  beyond  the  frontier 
under  Dumouriez, — voted  for  "  Death  ; "  at  which  word  from 
his  lips,  even  the  Jacobins  shuddered ;  and  it  is  said  that  the 
next  man  who  voted  cried  aloud  :  "  Citizens  !  I  had  in- 
tended to  vote  'Death;'  but  I  vote  'Banishment/  that  my 
vote  may  not  be  the  same  as  that  of  the  man  who  has 
just  voted  before  me  !  " 

And  yet  the  scene  in  the  Assembly  was  not  all  tragedy. 
The  women  —  the  tricoteuses,  Dames  de  la  Halle  —  were 
there  in  force,  applauding  every  death  vote.  In  the  galleries, 
wine  and  brandy  were  drunk  as  if  in  a  saloon.  Betting  went 
on  outside,  and  in  some  cases  inside  of  the  Hall  of  the 
Assembly;  but  within,  for  the  most  part,  was  restlessness, 
impatience,  and  the  uttermost  weariness.  On  Thursday 
night,  when  the  last  vote  was  being  taken,  a  sick  deputy, 
wrapped  in  blankets  and  carried  in  a  chair,  was  brought  in 
to  vote  for  mercy. 

Alas  !  the  vote  was  death  by  a  small  majority  of  fifty-three. 
If  we  deduct  from  the  death  vote  and  add  to  the  other  the 
twenty-six  who  said  death,  but  coupled  it  with  some  recom- 
mendation to  mercy,  the  majority  would  have  been  but  One. 

Then  brave  old  Malesherbes,  who  had  asked  leave  to  be 
the  king's  advocate,  pleaded  with  tears  for  delay,  —  for  an 
appeal  to  the  people,  —  but  in  vain.  On  Sunday  morning, 
January  20,  the  final  vote  was  taken  :  "  Death  within  twenty- 
four  hours  ! " 

On  Sunday  at  three  o'clock,  three  commissioners  went 
reluctantly  to  announce  his  fate  to  the  king.  Their  leader, 
Garat,  who  was  much  moved,  read  the  sentence.  Louis, 
who  knew  what  was  coming,  drew  from  his  pocket  a  paper, 
which  contained  these  words  :  — 

I  ask  a  delay  of  three  days,  to  enable  me  to  prepare  myself 
to  appear  in  the  presence  of  God. 

1  In  1840,  forty-eight  years  after  this,  I  saw  Manuel,  a  tall,  spare, 
gray-headed  man,  sitting  on  the  benches  of  the  Mountain,  in  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies.  — E.  W.  L. 


200  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

I  ask  permission  to  see  without  witnesses  the  person  I  shall 
designate  to  the  Commissioners  of  the  Commune,  and  I  beg 
that  this  person  may  not  be  subjected  to  any  fear  or  disquietude 
by  reason  of  the  act  of  charity  he  may  have  shown  me. 

I  ask  to  be  delivered  from  the  perpetual  surveillance  that  the 
Conseil-Ge'ne'ral  of  the  Commune  has  established  over  me  in  the 
last  few  days. 

I  ask,  during  this  interval,  to  be  permitted  to  see  my  family 
when  I  may  ask  for  them,  and  without  witnesses. 

I  should  earnestly  desire  that  the  National  Convention 
would  at  once  take  charge  of  my  family,  and  would  allow 
them  to  withdraw  freely  and  without  indignity  to  any  place 
they  may  think  proper. 

I  recommend  to  the  kindness  of  the  nation  all  the  persons 
who  have  been  attached  to  my  service.  Many  have  put  all 
they  owned  into  the  purchase  of  their  appointments,  and  must 
now  be  in  great  need,  as  well  as  those  who  depended  for  sup- 
port upon  their  pensions.  Among  those  who  received  pensions 
from  me  there  are  many  old  men,  women,  and  children  who  had 
nothing  else  to  live  on. 

Done  in  the  Tower  of  the  Temple,  Jan.  20,  1793. 

Louis. 

After  having  given  this  paper  to  one  of  the  commissioners, 
the  king  gave  to  another  a  memorandum  in  another  hand- 
writing than  his  own.  It  was  the  name  and  address  of 
the  priest  he  had  chosen  to  be  with  him  to  the  last, — 
M.  Edgeworth  de  Firmont,  who  lived  483  in  the  Rue  de 
Bac. 

The  Commissioners  went  back  to  the  Convention,  and 
gave  an  account  of  their  mission. 

The  National  Convention  then  decreed  that  Louis  was 
free  to  have  whatever  minister  of  religion  he  might  choose, 
and  to  see  his  family  without  witnesses.  It  also  declared 
that  "  the  nation,  always  wise  and  just,  would  take  care  of 
his  family." 

It  paid  no  attention  to  what  the  king  had  said  with  refer- 
ence to  his  pensioners  and  retainers  ;  and  it  declined  to  give 
Louis  the  three  days'  delay  he  asked  before  his  execution. 

Then  it  drew  up  a  placard  to  be  posted  on  all  the  walls  of 
Paris. 


THE  KING.  201 

I.  The  execution  of  the  sentence  on  Louis  Capet  will  take 
place  to-morrow,  Monday,  January  21. 

II.  The  place  of  execution  will  be  the  Place  de  la  ReVolu- 
tion,  formerly  La  Place  Louis  XV.,  between  the  pied  d'eftal, 
and  the  Champs  Elysdes. 

III.  Louis  Capet  will  leave  the  Temple  at  eight  o'clock,  so 
that  the  execution  may  take  place  at  midday. 

IV.  Commissioners  of  the  Department  of  Paris,  Commission- 
ers of  the  Municipality,  and  two  members  of  the  Criminal  Tri- 
bunal, will  be  present  at  the  execution ;  the  Secretary  of  this 
Tribunal  will  draw  up  an  account,  and  the  Commissioners  and 
others,  as  soon  as  the  execution  shall  be  over,  will  return  to  the 
Council,  which  shall  sit  until  they  do  so,  and  give   in  their 
report. 

THE  PROVISIONAL  COUNCIL. 
(Signed) 

ROLAND.         CLAVIERE.        MONGE. 
LEBRUN.         GARAT.  PASCHE. 

By  Order  of  the  Council  GOUVELLE. 

The  barriers  of  Paris  were  ordered  to  be  closed,  the  Sec- 
tions to  be  under  arms.  All  citizens  were  warned  to  be 
upon  their  guard  against  any  disorder  attempted  by  the 
enemies  of  liberty  and  equality. 

Louis,  when  the  officers  of  the  Council  had  quitted  him, 
remained  alone  for  several  hours.  At  first  he  stood  motion- 
less for  some  time,  as  if  thinking.  Then  suddenly  he 
stamped  his  foot,  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down  his 
chamber  in  much  agitation. 

Mercereau,  a  stone-mason,  a  rude,  rough  man,  who  made 
a  point  of  coming  to  the  Temple  as  dirty  and  disorderly  as 
possible,  was  one  of  the  municipal  guards  on  service  at  the 
Temple  that  day.  Louis  walked  slowly  into  the  room  where 
his  guards  were  stationed,  and  after  a  few  undecided  steps 
he  approached  the  wall,  on  which  a  copy  of  "  The  Rights  of 
Man  "  was  posted.  He  pointed  with  his  finger  to  Article 
Eight,  which  said  :  — 

"  The  Law  is  not  to  inflict  penalties  unless  they  are  evi- 
dently and  strictly  necessary.  No  one  can  be  punished 
except  in  virtue  of  a  law  passed  before  his  crime  was 
committed." 


202  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

"  If  that  article  had  been  followed,  many  disorders  would 
have  been  spared,"  Louis  said  to  Mercereau. 

"  True  enough,"  said  the  man,  carelessly. 

A  few  moments  after  this  Louis  showed  a  wish  to  go  to 
his  wife.  Mercereau  would  not  allow  him.  Louis  insisted, 
saying  he  was  authorized.  Mercereau  would  not  yield  the 
point,  and  flatly  refused  him  permission. 

Louis  was  now  indeed  separated  from  his  family,  — his  wife, 
his  sister,  and  his  children.  From  August  13,  when  they  had 
all  been  carried  to  the  Temple,  they  at  first  lived  all  to- 
gether in  the  Little  Tower;  but  towards  the  end  of  Sep- 
tember the  Commune  ordered  them  to  be  placed  in  the 
Large  Tower. 

This  Large  Tower  was  erected  about  the  year  1200  by 
Brother  Hubert,  a  Templar  who  had  inherited  a  fortune. 
It  stands  in  an  enclosure  of  120  to  130  hectares ;  this  en- 
closure includes  a  variety  of  buildings  of  all  dates,  especially 
the  palace  of  the  Grand  Prior,  erected  in  1667.  The  Comte 
d'Artois  lived  in  it  when  he  was  in  Paris,  and  there  he 
several  times  received  his  sister-in-law,  Marie  Antoinette, 
after  her  churchings  at  Notre  Dame. 

The  Tower  was  divided  into  four  stories.  The  basement 
floor  was  given  up  to  the  municipals  ;  the  first  floor  (premier) 
was  for  the  corps  de  garde;  the  next  was  divided  into  four 
rooms,  —  an  ante-room,  the  dining-room,  the  king's  bed- 
chamber, and  a  tiny  one  in  which  Cle'ry  slept,  —  his  valet  de 
chambrc.  The  story  above  this  was  occupied  by  the  queen, 
her  children,  and  the  Princess  Elisabeth. 

The  furniture  in  the  king's  rooms  was  very  scanty,  —  a 
writing-desk,  a  bureau,  four  upholstered  armchairs,  an  easy- 
chair,  several  common  straw  chairs,  and  a  table.  There  was 
a  looking-glass  over  the  fireplace,  and  a  bed  with  green 
damask  hangings,  which  had  belonged  to  one  of  the  cap- 
tains in  the  suite  of  the  Comte  d'Artois.  There  were  four 
turrets  that  ran  up  the  sides  of  the  Tower.  One  of  these, 
adjoining  the  king's  bed-chamber,  he  used  as  an  oratory; 
another  held  his  wardrobe.  One  contained  the  staircase, 
another  the  firewood. 


THE  KING.  203 

About  six  in  the  evening,  Garat,  the  minister  of  justice, 
accompanied  by  Santerre,  the  commandant  of  the  National 
Guard,  came  back  to  announce  to  Louis  XVI.  the»  resolu- 
tions of  the  Convention.  They  brought  with  them  in  their 
carriage  the  priest  whom  Louis  had  desired  to  see. 

When  Carat's  mission  was  accomplished,  he  and  Santerre 
withdrew,  and  Louis  was  left  alone  with  the  priest.  The 
Abbe  Edgeworth  de  Firmont  was  of  Irish  origin.  He  be- 
longed to  the  diocese  of  Paris,  and  indeed  was  its  vicar- 
general.  For  some  time  he  had  been  the  spiritual  director 
of  Madame  Elisabeth,  who,  foreseeing  what  might  happen 
to  her  brother,  had  recommended  him.  After  the  massacre 
of  priests  in  September,  the  Abbe  Edgeworth  had  gone  into 
hiding  at  Choisy-le-Roi,  taking  the  name  of  Essex.  Louis, 
at  the  beginning  of  his  trial,  sent  him  word,  through  M.  de 
Malesherbes,  that  he  might  need  his  services.  The  Abbe' 
Edgeworth  accepted  the  duty,  and  changed  his  lodgings  to 
the  Rue  de  Bac. 

The  abbe  and  the  king  retired  to  the  little  chamber  in 
the  turret  which  served  as  an  oratory,  and  remained  there 
alone  together  nearly  two  hours. 

About  half-past  eight,  Louis's  interview  with  his  family 
took  place.  In  view  of  making  the  order  of  the  Convention 
(which  was  that  the  interview  should  take  place  without  the 
presence  of  witnesses)  agree  with  an  order  of  the  Commune 
that  Louis  was  not  to  be  left  out  of  sight  of  his  guards  for 
one  moment,  this  interview  took  place  in  the  dining-room, 
which  was  divided  by  a  glass  door  from  the  ante-chamber. 

Marie  Antoinette  came  down  first,  holding  her  son  by  the 
hand  ;  then  Marie  Therese  and  Madame  Elisabeth.  Louis 
held  each  long  in  his  embrace.  He  spoke  to  them  at  inter- 
vals ;  the  princesses  sobbed.  At  a  quarter  past  ten  they 
went  back  to  their  own  chambers,  having  made  the  king 
promise  that  he  would  see  them  again  in  the  morning. 

Louis  went  back  to  the  oratory  with  his  confessor.  He 
came  out  about  midnight,  and  Clery  undressed  him. 
"  Clery,  wake  me  at  five  o'clock,"  he  said.  Then  he  lay 
down  and  went  to  sleep. 


2O4  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

Paris  was  awakened  the  next  morning  by  the  sound  of 
drums.  The  generate  was  beaten  in  all  quarters  of  the  city. 
The  Nftional  Guards  assembled  in  their  Sections.  The 
greatest  precautions  had  been  taken.  One  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  men  under  arms  formed  a  line  from  the 
Temple  to  the  place  of  execution.  All  persons  living  along 
the  route  were  enjoined  to  keep  their  windows  closed. 

The  new  instrument  of  execution,  adopted  at  the  sugges- 
tion of  Dr.  Guillotin,  a  member  of  the  Constituent  Assembly, 
had  already  done  work  on  the  Place  du  Carrousel,  and  was 
now  erected  on  the  Place  de  la  Revolution  (since  1830  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde).  It  was  put  up  about  fifteen  yards 
from  the  place  where  the  obelisk  of  Luxor  now  stands,  and 
on  the  spot  where  had  stood  the  statue  of  Louis  XV., 
overthrown  by  the  populace  on  the  loth  of  August.  The 
bronze  of  the  statue  was  then  presented  to  Latude,  so  long 
a  prisoner  in  the  Bastille  and  at  Vincennes. 

The  guillotine  was  placed  on  a  platform  surrounded  by  a 
railing,  and  was  reached  by  several  steps.  The  head  was 
turned  towards  the  Tuileries. 

The  crowd  was  great,  though  the  weather  was  bad.  The 
night  had  been  cold  and  rainy,  and  it  was  still  raining. 

A  rumor  began  to  be  circulated  that  the  night  before  a 
member  of  the  Convention,  who  had  voted  for  the  king's 
death,  had  been  stabbed  by  a  royalist. 

A  little  pamphlet  had  been  circulated,  called  "The  Breviary 
of  Parisian  Ladies,"  to  oppose  the  execution  of  Louis  XVI. 
It  exhorted  the  ladies  of  Paris  to  dress  themselves  in  mean 
clothes,  and  to  mix  in  with  the  terrible  Dames  de  la  Halle, 
who  stationed  themselves  round  the  guillotine,  and  raise  the 
cry  of  "  Pardon  !  Pardon  !  "  on  the  appearance  of  the  king. 
But  the  Dames  de  la  Halle  got  wind  of  this  intention,  and 
declared  that  they  should  stay  at  home. 

Louis  was  sleeping  peacefully  when  at  five  o'clock  Clery 
prepared  to  light  his  fire.  The  noise  he  made  aroused  the 
king,  who  drew  his  curtain. 

"  Has  five  o'clock  struck?"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  sire,  on  several  of  the  town  clocks,  but  not  yet  on 


THE  KING.  205 

ours."  The  fire  being  lighted,  Cle'ry  came  to  the  side  of  the 
king. 

"  I  have  slept  well,"  said  Louis ;  "  I  needed  rest.  The 
events  of  yesterday  tired  me  greatly." 

Then  he  rose.  With  Cle'ry's  assistance  he  put  on  a  clean 
shirt  and  gray  small-clothes,  a  white  waistcoat,  and  a  purple 
coat.  He  took  out  of  its  pockets  his  pocket-book,  his  eye- 
glasses, his  snuff-box,  and  several  other  little  objects,  which, 
together  with  his  purse,  he  laid  upon  the  mantel-piece. 

When  he  was  dressed,  the  Abbe  Edgeworth,  who  had  lain 
sleepless  and  undressed  on  Clary's  bed,  came  to  him.  The 
abbe  wore  a  plain  black  coat.  Cle'ry  pushed  the  bureau 
into  the  middle  of  the  chamber,  and  arranged  it  as  an  altar. 
The  necessary  things  had  been  brought  from  the  Church  of 
the  Capuchins  in  the  Marais  the  night  before. 

The  mass  began  at  six.  Cle'ry  assisted  the  priest  in  the 
service,  reading  from  a  prayer-book  handed  to  him  by  his 
master. 

Kneeling  on  a  little  horsehair-covered  cushion,  Louis  fol- 
lowed the  service  with  great  earnestness,  and  received  the 
bread  of  the  communion  ;  then,  when  the  mass  was  over,  he 
went  back  alone  into  his  oratory. 

At  seven  o'clock  he  came  out  and  gave  Cle'ry  his  seal,  his 
wedding-ring,  and  a  little  package  of  hair.  He  charged  Cle'ry 
to  give  these  things  to  the  queen,  and  to  make  her  his  last 
farewell. 

A  few  minutes  after  this  he  asked  for  a  pair  of  scissors. 
The  municipal  officers  hesitated.  "  We  must  know  what  you 
want  them  for,"  they  said. 

"  That  Cle'ry  may  cut  my  hair,"  replied  Louis. 

The  municipals  deliberated  half  an  hour,  and  then  de- 
cided that  he  could  not  have  the  scissors.  The  king  ap- 
peared annoyed,  and  insisted.  He  turned  to  one  of  them, 
saying,  — 

"  I  would  not  have  touched  the  scissors.  I  would  have  let 
Clery  cut  my  hair  in  your  presence.  Try  again,  monsieur ; 
see  if  you  cannot  have  this  granted  to  me." 

The  municipals,  however,  persisted  in  refusing. 


206  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

It  was  growing  light.  The  sound  of  the  drums  beating  the 
generate  could  be  distinctly  heard  in  the  Tower. 

"  I  suppose  they  are  calling  out  the  National  Guard," 
said  the  king  to  his  confessor.  And  as  the  noise  increased, 
and  the  sound  of  the  tramp  of  horses  and  of  men  was  heard 
in  the  courtyard,  together  with  orders  shouted  by  the  officers, 
he  added,  "  I  think  that  they  have  come." 

The  evening  before,  when  he  quitted  his  wife  and  family, 
he  had  promised  to  see  them  again  ;  but  the  abb£  had  assured 
him  that  such  an  interview  would  only  make  them  endure  a 
trial  more  terrible  than  their  first  parting,  and  that  he  had 
better,  for  their  sakes,  deprive  himself  of  the  sad  consolation 
of  bidding  them  a  last  farewell.  The  king  agreed  and 
submitted. 

From  seven  to  eight  o'clock  there  was  constant  coming 
and  going  in  the  Tower  of  the  Temple.  The  king  was  dis- 
turbed several  times  on  various  pretexts.  He  was  even 
treated  very  roughly  by  some  of  the  municipals  on  duty. 
He  did  not  seem  much  moved  by  it,  and  only  said  to  his 
confessor,  "  You  see  how  these  people  treat  me  ;  but  we  must 
learn  to  bear  everything." 

About  eight  o'clock  the  door  of  his  room  was  flung  open. 
Santerre,  the  commandant  of  the  National  Guard,  entered 
with  his  staff  and  ten  generals.  These  were  accompanied 
by  two  Commissioners  of  the  Commune  of  Paris,  men  who 
were  ex-priests.  Their  names  were  Bernard  and  Jacques 
Roux. 

Louis  came  out  of  his  little  turret  chamber. 

"  You  have  come  for  me?"  he  said  to  Santerre. 

"  Yes." 

"  Give  me  one  moment." 

He  went  back  into  the  turret,  and  came  out  again  almost 
immediately,  followed  by  his  confessor.  He  held  a  paper  in 
his  hand.  It  was  his  will,  which  he  had  made  shortly  before, 
on  Christmas  Day. 

He  spoke  to  Jacques  Roux,  and  said  to  him,  — 

"  Monsieur,  I  beg  you  to  give  this  to  the  President  of  the 
Conseil  Ge'ne>al  of  the  Commune." 


THE  KING.  207 

Jacques  Roux  answered  brutally,  — 

"  We  did  not  come  here  to  do  your  errands,  but  to  escort 
you  to  the  scaffold." 

"Very  true,"  said  Louis,  gently. 

He  then  turned  to  Citizen  Baudrais,  a  commissioner  set 
over  the  guard  at  the  Temple,  and  asked  him  to  take  charge 
of  the  will.  Baudrais  accepted  the  trust,  and  received  the 
paper. 

At  this  moment,  perceiving  that  all  present  wore  their  hats, 
the  king  asked  for  his,  which  Cle'ry  brought  him.  It  was  a 
three-cornered  hat,  the  only  serviceable  one  he  had.  He 
put  it  on,  and  then,  speaking  to  the  persons  present,  he 
begged  them  to  show  kindness  to  his  family,  and  added  : 

"  I  also  commend  to  the  care  of  the  Commune  Clery,  my 
valet  de  chambre*  who  has  always  faithfully  served  me.  My 
wish  is  that  he  should  pass  into  the  service  of  the  queen  — 
of  my  wife,"  he  said,  correcting  himself. 

Nobody  answered. 

Santerre  then  said,  "  Monsieur,  it  is  almost  time  we  should 
be  going."  Louis  withdrew  for  the  last  time  into  his  oratory, 
to  collect  himself.  In  a  few  minutes  he  came  out  again. 
Again  pressed  by  Santerre  to  set  out,  he  stamped  with  his 
right  foot  on  the  floor,  and  said,  "  Marchons  !  " 

The  procession  then  moved.  At  the  top  of  the  staircase 
Louis  perceived  Mathey,  the  concierge  of  the  Tower,  and 
said  to  him,  — 

"  I  was  a  little  too  sharp  with  you  the  day  before  yesterday. 
Forgive  me,  Mathey." 

The  man  turned  his  head  aside  without  an  answer  and 
slipped  away. 

Louis  walked  across  the  first  courtyard,  then  he  turned 
round,  and  gave  a  farewell  glance  at  the  Tower  of  the 
Temple. 

In  the  outer  court  a  carriage  was  waiting,  —  a  green  car- 
riage, —  and  two  gendarmes  held  the  door  open.  The 
carriage  belonged  to  Claviere,  the  minister  of  public  contri- 
butions. It  was  provided  at  the  last  moment,  because  the 
Commune  was  averse  to  Louis's  being  taken  to  the  Place  de 


"2O8  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

la  Revolution  in  the  carriage  of  the  mayor,  which  had  been 
the  order  of  the  Executive  Council. 

As  the  king  approached,  one  of  the  gendarmes  jumped 
into  the  carriage  and  seated  himself  on  the  front  seat. 
Louis  got  in  next,  then  the  Abbe  Edgevvorth.  Both  took 
the  back  seats.  The  other  gendarme  then  took  the  fourth 
place.  He  was  Lieutenant  Labrasse. 

More  than  ten  thousand  men  under  arms  were  massed 
around  the  Temple,  forming  a  double  line.  The  procession, 
preceded  by  drums  beating,  and  trumpets  sounding,  moved 
on.  It  was  a  little  past  eight. 

As  the  carriage  turned  out  of  the  Temple  gate,  a  few 
women's  voices  cried,  "Pardon!  Grace!" 

The  rain  had  ceased,  but  a  dense,  chill  fog  hung  over  the 
city.  The  procession  gained  the  line  of  the  Boulevards  by 
the  Rue  du  Temple.  Cannon,  rolling  heavily  over  the 
slippery  streets,  went  before  and  behind,  escorted  by  ten 
thousand  men. 

It  was  a  melancholy  spectacle.  Everywhere  on  the  cross 
streets,  and  on  any  open  space,  were  National  Guards  under 
arms.  The  crowd  was  silent. 

Every  precaution  had  been  taken. 

Nothing  positive  was  known  by  the  authorities,  but  it  was 
rumored  that  the  royalists  would  attempt  to  save  the  king. 
The  Abbe  Edgeworth  had  been  informed  of  such  a  project. 
Possibly  Louis  still  hoped  that  the  devotion  of  some  few  of 
those  once  faithful  to  him  would  save  him  from  impending 
death  upon  the  scaffold. 

And  indeed  these  expectations  seemed  likely  to  be 
realized.  The  procession  had  just  reached  the  Boulevard 
Bonne  Nouvelle,  when,  near  the  Porte  St.  Denis,  a  man 
forced  his  way  through  the  crowd,  followed  by  three  others, 
younger  than  himself.  All  four  brandished  their  swords, 
and  cried  :  "A  nous,  frangais  !  A  nous  !  All  those  who  wish 
to  save  their  king !  " 

There  was  no  echo  to  this  cry.  No  one  in  the  crowd 
responded.  The  friends  on  whom  the  rescuers  had  counted 
had  not  reached  the  rendezvous.  The  little  party,  seeing 


THE  KING.  209 

itself  deserted,  tried  to  profit  by  the  confusion  caused  by  its 
rush  to  escape,  but  one  of  the  corps  de  reserve,  apprised  by 
a  vidette,  fell  upon  them.  They  separated.  Two  managed 
to  escape.  These  were  the  Baron  de  Batz  and  his  secretary 
Devaux.  The  two  others,  closely  pursued,  rushed  up  the 
Rue  de  Clery.  They  were  followed,  captured  in  a  house, 
and  cut  to  pieces. 

The  drums  and  trumpets  concealed  the  noise  made  by 
this  attempt.  Those  in  the  carriage  with  Louis  knew  nothing 
of  it,  and  drove  on  along  the  Boulevard  du  Temple,  the 
Boulevard  St.  Martin,  and  the  Boulevard  St.  Honord. 

Louis  at  first  tried  to  talk  to  the  Abbe  Edgeworth,  but  the 
noise  was  so  great  that  he  could  neither  hear  nor  be  heard. 
Then  the  abbd  offered  him  his  breviary,  in  which  he  read 
such  psalms  as  the  priest  pointed  out  to  him. 

The  horses  went  at  a  walk,  and  their  progress  was  so  slow 
that  it  took  nearly  two  hours  to  traverse  the  two  miles  which 
separated  the  Temple  from  the  place  of  execution.  It  was 
past  ten  when  the  carriage  stopped  on  the  Place  de  la 
Revolution. 

"  We  have  arrived,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,"  whispered  Louis 
in  his  confessor's  ear. 

The  executioners  approached  the  carriage.  There  were 
five  of  them,  —  Charles  Henri  Sanson,  their  chief,  his  two 
brothers,  Charlemagne  and  Louis  Martin,  and  their  two 
assistants,  Gros  and  Barrd. 

Sanson  stood  ready  for  his  dreadful  task.  It  was  his  duty, 
but  in  his  heart  he  grieved  for  it.1  He  even  hoped  that 
something  might  occur  which  would  prevent  the  procession 
from  arriving  at  the  scaffold,  or  that  the  victim  might  be  torn 
from  him  by  a  popular  rising.  He  did  not  know  what  might 
happen,  and  he,  his  brothers,  and  the  assistants  carried 
concealed  weapons.  Under  their  loose  jackets  they  all  had 
daggers  and  pistols,  and  their  pockets  were  filled  with 
cartridges. 

As   time   passed    and   no   procession   appeared,    Sanson 

1  See  Balzac's  short  story  founded  on  fact,  "  Une  Episode  sous  la 
Terreur." 


2 1 0  THE  FRENCH  RE  VOL  UTION". 

began  to  hope  that  he  would  be  spared  this  execution  ;  but 
soon  a  hoarse  murmur  rose  from  the  Rue  de  la  Revolution 
(now,  as  formerly,  the  Rue  Royale),  and  the  carriage  contain- 
ing the  victim  appeared.  There  was  nothing  left  for  Sanson 
but  to  do  his  terrible  duty. 

One  of  his  assistants  opened  the  carriage-door.  Louis, 
before  he  got  out,  laid  his  hand  on  the  knee  of  the  Abbe 
Edgeworth,  saying  in  a  firm  voice  to  the  two  gendarmes 
who  were  in  the  carriage,  — 

"Gentlemen,  I  commend  this  gentleman  to  your  care. 
See  that  after  my  death  no  insult  is  offered  to  him.  I 
charge  you  to  look  after  him." 

They  were  silent.     Louis  repeated  his  words. 

"  Yes,  yes.  We  will  take  care  of  him.  Let  us  manage 
it,"  -said  one  of  them.  Louis  then  got  out  of  the  carriage. 
It  was  at  that  moment  exactly  twenty  minutes  past  ten. 

The  scaffold  was  on  a  platform  which  had  been  erected 
upon  the  pedestal  of  the  former  statue  of  Louis  XV.,  and 
faced  the  chateau  of  the  Tuileries.  It  was  surrounded  by 
a  railing,  and  mounted  by  six  very  steep  steps.  A  wide 
space  around  it  had  been  kept  clear,  and  this  space  was 
bordered  by  cannon. 

Inside  of  the  space  there  were  from  sixty  to  one  hun- 
dred drummers ;  dragoons  on  horseback,  with  close-clipped 
horse-tails  on  their  helmets,  formed  a  half-circle.  On'  the 
Place  were  massed  battalions  from  the  Sections  of  Gravilliers, 
Arcis,  and  the  Lombards.  The  Fe'de're's  of  Aix  and  Mar- 
seilles were  at  the  entrance  of  the  Champs  Elyse'es.  Du- 
gazon,  the  actor,  on  horseback  like  Santerre,  whose  aide-de- 
camp he  was,  was  near  them.  He  acted  in  so  pretentious  a 
manner  that  the  crowd  fancied  he  was  playing  an  important 
part  in  the  king's  execution. 

Louis,  meantime,  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold. 
Without  speaking  he  took  off  his  coat,  untied  the  queue 
that  confined  his  hair,  took  off  his  cravat,  and  opened 
his  shirt,  so  as  to  uncover  his  neck  and  shoulders.  Then 
he  knelt  down  to  receive  the  final  benediction  of  his 
confessor. 


THE  KING.  211 

As  he  rose  the  executioners  approached  him  with  ropes  in 
their  hands.  • 

l<  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  he  said. 

"  We  must  bind  you,"  replied  one  of  them,  —  Martin 
Sanson. 

"  Bind  me !  No !  I  will  never  consent  to  that.  Do 
what  is  ordered  you,  but  you  shall  not  bind  me.  You  must 
give  that  up." 

Martin,  however,  tried  to  bind  him.  Charlemagne  came 
to  his  assistance.  It  was  clear  that  if  opposed  they  would 
use  force. 

A  struggle  was  on  the  point  of  taking  place,  when  Sanson 
gave  the  Abb£  Edgeworth  a  look.  The  abbe',  greatly  moved, 
then  said,  — 

"  Sire,  in  this  new  outrage  see  a  last  resemblance  between 
your  Majesty  and  that  Son  of  God  who  Himself  will  be' 
your  reward." 

This  intervention  ended  the  painful  scene.  Louis  sub- 
mitted. 

"  But,  indeed,"  he  said  to  the  abb£,  "  nothing  but  our 
Lord's  example  could  have  induced  me  to  submit  to  such 
an  insult."  Then  he  turned  to  the  executioners,  saying: 
"  Do  what  you  will.  I  will  drink  the  cup  to  the  very  dregs." 

The  two  assistants  tied  his  hands  behind  his  back  and 
cut  his  hair. 

The  steps  of  the  scaffold  were  hard  to  mount.  The  fog 
and  the  sleet  had  made  them  slippery,  and  Louis  had  not 
the  support  of  his  hands,  but  he  leaned  on  the  Abbe'  Edge- 
worth  as  he  mounted.  It  was  twenty-two  minutes  past  ten. 

As  soon  as  he  reached  the  platform,  Louis,  whose  face 
was  flushed,  stepped  quickly  round  the  scaffold,  and,  leaning 
on  the  railing  on  the  left  side,  which  faced  the  Garde  Meuble, 
he  cried  :  "  Be  silent,  drummers  !  I  wish  to  speak." 

The  drummers  obeyed.  The  noise  ceased.  Then,  in 
a  voice  so  strong  that  it  was  heard  all  round  the  scaffold  and 
even  as  far  as  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries,  Louis  cried,  — 

"  I  die  perfectly  innocent  of  all  the  imaginary  crimes  that 
have  been  laid  to  my  charge.  I  forgive  all  those  who  are 


212  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION". 

the  cause  of  my  misfortunes.  I  trust  that  my  blood  may 
assure  the  happiness  of»  France.  .  .  ." 

While  he  was  speaking  there  was  perceptible  agitation 
among  the  National  Guards  placed  near  the  scaffold  ;  some 
of  them,  thinking  that  the  preliminaries  of  the  execution  had 
already  lasted  too  long,  were  anxious  to  stop  his  speech ; 
others  insisted  that  he  should  be  allowed  to  go  on.  Even 
the  opinion  of  the  executioners  was  divided.  The  moment 
was  critical. 

Santerre  promptly  put  an  end  to  it.  At  the  first  words 
spoken  by  Louis  he  rode  up  to  the  scaffold,  and,  lifting  his 
sword,  cried  out,  "I  brought  you  here  to  die,  not  to 
harangue  ! "  Then  to  the  executioners,  "  Do  your  duty." 
At  the  same  moment  he  signed  with  his  sword  to  the 
drummers  to  go  on.  They  obeyed  him.  Their  drumming 
drowned  the  words  of  Louis.  No  doubt  he  may  have 
cherished  a  secret  hope  that  he  might  move  the  spectators, 
for  his  face  expressed  great  disappointment.  A  man  named 
Bonvard,  an  actor  in  the  The'atre  de  la  Re'publique,  who 
was  placed  near  the  scaffold  with  his  battalion,  said  after- 
wards that  when  the  drums  began  to  beat,  the  king  grew 
"as  yellow  as  a  quince."  He  said  also  that  Louis,  still 
standing  by  the  railing  of  the  scaffold,  seemed  for  a  moment 
to  be  waiting  till  the  drums  should  cease,  and  that  he  made 
some  slight  resistance  when  the  executioners  came  up 
behind  to  seize  him. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  the  scene  lasted  only  a  few  moments. 
Louis,  hopeless  of  being  heard,  yielded,  and  let  the  execu- 
tioners do  what  they  would  with  him.  They  bound  him 
and  placed  him  on  the  plank.  A  loud  cry  was  heard.  The 
knife  fell,  and  the  head  rolled  into  the  basket. 

One  of  the  assistants,  —  the  youngest  one,  —  a  man 
named  Gros,  seized  it  by  the  hair,  and,  walking  twice  round 
the  scaffold,  showed  it  to  the  people.  It  was  twenty-four 
minutes  past  ten  o'clock. 

The  crowd  responded  with  cries  of  "  Vive  la  Nation !  " 
"  Vive  la  Republique  ! " 

The  Abb£  Edgeworth  de  Firmont,  who  during  the  king's 


THE  KING.  213 

last  moments  had  remained  upon  his  knees  repeating  the 
prayers  for  the  dying,  then  rose,  descended  from  the  plat- 
form, passed  through  the  ranks  of  the  dragoons,  which 
opened  to  let  him  through,  and  as  rapidly  as  possible 
sought  refuge  in  the  house  of  M.  de  Malesherbes. 

There  had  been  some  talk  of  firing  cannon  on  the  Pont 
Neuf  as  soon  as  the  head  of  "  Louis  le  Dernier  "  should 
have  been  severed ;  but  the  plan  was  given  up  on  pretense 
that  the  head  of  a  king  when  it  fell  ought  not  to  be  of  more 
consequence  than  the  head  of  any  other  malefactor.  Shouts, 
repeated  from  one  crowd  to  another,  spread  the  news. 

The  great  mass  of  the  spectators  in  the  Place  de  la  Re1  vo- 
lution and  its  neighborhood  showed  signs  of  joy.  Men 
cried :  "  Vive  la  Liberte'  !  Vive  la  Re'publique !  Vive 
rEgalitd  !  Perish  all  tyrants ! "  They  sang  hymns  to 
Liberty ;  they  embraced  one  another ;  they  shook  hands ; 
they  danced  round  the  guillotine,  and  on  the  square,  and 
on  the  bridge,  once  called  the  Pont  Louis  Seize  (now  the 
Pont  de  la  Concorde).  Those  nearest  to  the  scaffold 
pressed  under  it,  or  climbed  the  steps.  They  dipped  their 
pikes,  their  bayonets,  and  sabres  in  the  blood.  Others 
tried  to  soak  it  up  on  their  handkerchiefs. 

A  man  got  upon  the  guillotine,  pulled  up  his  sleeve, 
filled  his  hand  with  clots  of  blood,  and  three  times  sprinkled 
the  spectators,  crying  out  as  he  did  so  :  "  My  brothers,  we 
have  been  threatened  that  the  blood  of  Louis  Capet  would 
fall  upon  our  own  heads.  Thus  let  it  fall !  Louis  Capet 
has  often  dipped  his  hands  in  our  blood.  Republicans  ! 
the  blood  of  a  king  brings  you  good  fortune  ! " 

In  vain  a  more  sober  citizen  remonstrated  :  "  My  friends, 
what  are  we  doing  ?  All  that  is  passing  here  will  be  reported. 
Men  will  depict  us  in  foreign  countries  as  a  savage  people 
thirsting  for  blood." 

They  answered  him  :  "  Yes  !  thirsting  for  the  blood  of 
despots  !  Tell  it,  if  you  will,  to  all  the  world  !  .  .  .  We 
should  have  been  far  better  off  this  day,  if  on  this  spot 
where  a  statue  was  erected  to  Louis  XV.  our  fathers  had 
erected  his  scaffold  ! " 


2 1 4  THE  FREXCH  RE  VOL  UTION. 

Around  the  guillotine  there  was  still  commotion.  The 
hat  and  coat  of  the  king  were  torn  in  shreds,  and  men 
quarrelled  over  the  fragments.  One  of  the  executioner's 
assistants  was  selling  the  hair  of  the  victim.  A  young  man 
who  wanted,  not  a  few  hairs  only,  but  the  ribbon  that  had 
tied  the  king's  queue,  paid  him  a  louis.  Another  who 
looked  like  a  foreigner  —  an  Englishman  —  gave  fifteen 
francs  to  a  boy,  and  begged  him  to  dip  a  very  handsome 
white  handkerchief  in  such  blood  as  remained  on  the  scaffold. 

A  sans-culotte  took  some  on  his  finger  and  put  it  to  his 
lips.  "  It  tastes  devilishly  salt ! "  he  cried.  The  Fe'deres 
dipped  bits  of  paper  in  it,  stuck  them  on  their  pikes,  and 
went  off  shouting,  "  See  the  blood  of  a  tyrant !  " 

The  dead  body  of  the  king  was  quickly  taken  away.  A 
long  wicker  basket  had  been  prepared,  and  the  moment  the 
execution  was  over  the  body  was  flung  into  it,  and  a  cart 
carried  it  to  the  graveyard  of  La  Madeleine  (where  the 
Chapelle  Expiatoire  was  afterwards  erected).  This  grave- 
yard had  been  given  up  in  1720,  but  it  was  reopened  in 
1770  for  the  interment  of  the  poor  creatures  who  had  been 
crushed  to  death  at  the  fete  given  on  that  very  spot  at  the 
marriage  of  Louis  (then  dauphin)  with  Marie  Antoinette.  A 
hundred  dragoons  on  horseback  escorted  the  body. 

A  grave  had  been  dug,  twelve  feet  deep  and  six  feet  wide. 
Two  priests  were  standing  by  it  without  surplices  and  with- 
out tapers.  They  put  the  body  in  the  grave  uncoffined, 
with  two  full  baskets  of  quicklime,  and  filled  it  up  without 
any  further  ceremonies. 

The  cart,  as  it  drove  back,  let  the  wicker  basket  fall.  The 
crowd  rushed  at  it  and  renewed  the  scenes  around  the 
scaffold.  Some  rubbed  the  bottom  with  rags,  others  with 
handkerchiefs,  and  some  with  bits  of  paper.  One  man 
dipped  two  dice  in  the  blood. 

Whilst  all  this  was  going  on,  the  Conseil  Ge'ne'ral  of  the 
Commune  was  in  permanent  session.  From  the  moment 
that  the  procession  left  the  Temple,  messengers,  about  every 
six  minutes,  arrived  to  report  what  was  going  on  and  at 
what  place  they  had  left  Louis.  A  few  of  the  members 


THE  KING.  215 

of  the  Council  were  much  moved.  It  is  said  that  the  savage 
Hebert  shed  tears.  One  of  his  neighbors  was  surprised 
at  this.  "  The  tyrant,"  he  said,  "  was  very  fond  of  my  dog, 
and  often  patted  him.1  I  was  thinking  of  that." 

The  Council  was  presided  over  by  the  ci-devant  marquis, 
Duroure.  When  it  received  notice  that  the  execution  had 
taken  place,  Duroure  burst  out  laughing,  and  flinging  up  his 
arms  shouted,  — 

"  My  friends,  the  affair  is  over !  the  affair  is  over  !  Every- 
thing went  off  admirably  !  " 

A  few  moments  afterwards  Santerre  came  in,  accompanied 
by  the  Commissioners  of  the  Commune ;  and  Jacques  Roux 
gave  a  viva  voce  account  of  the  events  in  which  he  had 
participated. 

The  sitting  of  the  Convention  took  place  as  usual.  It 
began  at  eight  in  the  morning,  and  ended  at  half-past  four. 
Vergniaud,  the  Girondist  leader,  that  day  presided. 

Whether  it  was  that  the  members  of  the  Assembly  felt 
repugnance  to  speak  of  the  execution  then  going  on  as 
the  result  of  their  own  votes,  or  whether  they  were  under  the 
influence  of  apprehension  as  to  its  personal  consequences 
on  themselves,  they  spoke  of  nothing  but  the  murder  of 
one  of  their  own  number,  Lepelletier  Saint-Fargeau,  which 
had  taken  place  the  day  before.  He  had  voted  for  the 
king's  death,  and  had  been  stabbed  by  a  royalist  in  a  cafe. 
A  deputy  related  the  particulars  of  his  death,  dwelling 
emphatically  on  what  he  considered  a  significant  mean- 
ing in  his  last  words  :  J'ai  froid. 

Other  deputies  mounted  the  tribune  and  declared  that 
their  lives  had  also  been  threatened  by  assassins.  They 
did  not  say  who  had  threatened  them,  but  they  were 
evidently  impressed  with  the  necessity  of  taking  exceptional 
precautions.  Barrere  proposed  that  domiciliary  visits  should 
be  made,  to  seek  out  and  arrest  any  royalists  who  might 
be  hiding  themselves  in  Paris.  The  Assembly  contented 

1  If  this  was  so,  it  was  probably  during  the  long  hours  of  the 
king's  trial ;  or  Hebert  and  his  dog  may  have  visited  the  Temple.  — 
E.  W.  L. 


2 1 6  THE  FRENCH  RE  VOL  UTION. 

itself,  however,  with  decreeing  six  years'  imprisonment  in 
chains  for  any  one  who  did  not  denounce  an  emigre  living 
under  his  roof. 

The  Assembly  then  received  a  touching  request  from  an 
old  servant  of  Louis  XVI.'s  father.  The  Abbe'  Leduc  asked 
permission  to  carry  to  Sens  and  there  lay  in  the  tomb  of 
his  own  family  the  mortal  remains  of  his  old  master's 
son.  The  Convention  refused  to  accede  to  his  request. 

As  for  Robespierre,  he  remained  at  home  all  day.  The 
evening  before  he  had  requested  Duplay,  the  cabinet-maker, 
in  whose  house  he  occupied  a  little  room,  to  close  carefully 
the  door  that  opened  on  the  Rue  St.  Honore.  This  was 
done  accordingly  on  the  morning  of  January  21.  Ele'onore, 
Duplay's  daughter,  supposed  to  be  engaged  to  Robespierre, 
was  surprised  at  this  and  asked  the  reason. 

"  Your  father  is  right,"  replied  the  deputy ;  "  something 
will  pass  which  you  ought  not  to  see." 

On  Sunday,  the  night  before  the  king's  death,  Marie 
Antoinette,  in  deep  grief  after  her  last  interview  with  her 
husband,  went  up  to  her  chamber,  on  the  highest  story 
of  the  Tower  of  the  Temple.  She  flung  herself,  dressed, 
upon  her  bed.  She  passed  all  night  shivering  with  cold  and 
trembling  with  apprehension.  Madame  Elisabeth  and  Marie 
Therese  occasionally  dozed.  The  little  dauphin  slept. 

At  six  o'clock  the  next  morning,  the  three  women  rose. 
The  king  had  promised  to  see  them  again  before  he  left  the 
Temple,  and  they  were  expecting  the  summons. 

At  a  quarter  past  six  their  door  opened.  They  thought 
the  summons  had  come.  But,  no,  —  it  was  a  prayer-book 
that  was  wanted  for  the  mass  about  to  be  said  in  the  king's 
chamber.  They  gave  the  book,  and  waited.  The  book 
belonged  to  the  wife  of  Tison. 

The  windows  of  the  Tower  had  been  boarded  up,  so  that 
they  could  see  only  the  sky.  They  could  perceive  nothing 
of  what  passed  outside. 

At  seven  o'clock  Marie  Antoinette  asked  leave  to  go  down 
into  her  husband's  chamber.  The  municipals,  much  em- 
barrassed, eluded  her  request,  saying  that  the  king  was 


THE  KING.  217 

much  occupied.  She  insisted  again.  Then  one  of  them 
went  to  inquire  if  Louis  XVI.  would  see  his  wife ;  but  he 
did  not  come  back  with  any  answer. 

About  this  time  the  dauphin,  who  was  now  up  and 
dressed,  understood  the  terrible  situation.  He  sprang  from 
his  mother's  arms  and  rushed  to  the  guards,  clasping  their 
knees  and  crying,  — 

"  Let  me  go,  messieurs !     Let  me  go  !  " 

"  Where  do  you  want  to  go?" 

"  To  speak  to  the  people,  —  to  beg  them  not  to  kill 
my  papa  —  the  king.  ...  In  the  name  of  God,  messieurs, 
let  me  go  !  " 

The  guards  pushed  the  boy  aside.  He  went  slowly  away, 
but  kept  on  crying,  "  Oh,  papa  !  papa  !  "  Marie  Antoi- 
nette pressed  him  in  her  arms,  —  him  and  his  sister.  She 
begged  them  to  imitate  their  father's  courage  and  never 
to  think  of  avenging  his  death.  She  wanted  them  to  eat 
some  breakfast,  but  they  refused. 

Then  they  heard  the  noise  of  drums  and  horses  in  the 
courtyard,  but  did  not  know  what  it  might  mean.  Marie 
Antoinette,  however,  seemed  to  guess. 

"  It  is  all  over,"  she  said,  weeping.  "  We  shall  never  see 
him  again." 

The  morning  was  passed  by  all  in  the  greatest  anxiety. 
Suddenly  they  heard  cries  and  yells,  mingled  with  the  noise 
of  fire-arms. 

"  Oh,  the  monsters  !  they  are  glad  !  "  whispered  Madame 
Elisabeth,  lifting  her  eyes  to  heaven. 

The  little  prince  burst  into  tears.  Marie  Therese  screamed 
aloud  ;  Marie  Antoinette  was  choked  with  sorrow. 

About  one  o'clock  dinner  was  brought  in.  Marie  Antoi- 
nette could  not  touch  food.  A  terrible  anxiety  oppressed 
her.  She  wanted  to  know  how  her  husband  in  the  death- 
hour  had  borne  himself,  —  how  he  had  died.  She  begged 
for  the  details.  She  asked  leave  for  C16ry  to  come  to  her. 
This  favor  was  refused.  And  the  day  ended  for  her  and  hers, 
as  it  had  begun,  in  uncertainty  and  sorrow. 

All  that  morning  Paris  had  worn  an  air  of  mourning.    The 


2  1 8  THE  FRENCH  RE  VOL  UTIOtf. 

murder  of  Lepelletier  de  Saint- Fargeau  two  days  before  had 
made  the  Revolutionists  apprehend  a  royalist  rising.  Rumors 
of  the  domiciliary  visits  which  had  been  projected  called  to 
mind  those  which  had  preceded  the  massacres  of  Sep- 
tember, and  made  others  dread  new  dangers. 

But  about  midday,  when  it  was  found  that  the  execution 
had  taken  place  without  hindrance,  and  that  the  measures 
taken  by  the  authorities  were  limited  to  strengthening  the 
armed  posts  and  patrolling  the  streets,  the  city  resumed  by 
degrees  its  usual  aspect. 

The  rich  shops,  the  booths  on  the  Boulevards,  and  work- 
men's places  of  work  were,  however,  only  half  open,  as  on 
days  of  half-holiday  (petite  fete).  The  population  seemed  to 
be  divided  into  two  very  distinct  parties.  All  who  grieved 
over  the  tragical  event  and  who  dreaded  its  consequences 
stayed  in  their  houses.  The  women  in  general  were  very  sad. 
Those  on  the  contrary  who  were  under  the  influence  of 
political  passion  applauded  the  execution  and  gave  way  to 
demonstrations  of  joy.  The  cafes  were  crowded  with  sans- 
culottes, who  drank,  harangued,  and  danced  and  sang. 

Me'n  were  crying  pies  and  cakes  on  the  very  spot  where 
the  tragedy  had  taken  place.  Citizens  conversed  together 
about  the  events  of  the  day.  Some  regretted  Santerre  had 
caused  the  drums  to  stifle  Louis's  last  words.  Others  approved 
what  he  had  done  —  and  then  they  fell  to  arguing. 

Before  nightfall  rumors  began  to  circulate.  It  was  said 
that  Philippe  Egalite  had  witnessed  the  execution  of  his 
cousin ;  that  he  had  been  seen  at  the  moment  when  the 
executioner  held  up  the  bloody  head,  but  then  had  ridden  off 
in  haste  on  a  horse  that  was  held  for  him. 

A  soldier  who  had  been  decorated  with  the  cross  of  St. 
Louis  died  of  grief  on  hearing  of  the  execution  of  his  king ; 
a  bookseller  named  Vente,  a  man  formerly  attached  to  the 
King's  Menus  Plaisirs,  became  crazy  ;  a  wig-maker  in  the  Rue 
Culture  Ste.  Catherine,  a  known  royalist,  was  seized  with 
such  despair  that  he  cut  his  throat  with  a  razor. 

Some  people  remarked  that  the  number  2 1  had  played  a 
great  part  in  the  life  of  Louis.  It  was  on  the  2ist  day  of 


THE  KING.  219 

one  month  that  he  was  married  by  proxy;  on  the  2ist  day 
of  another  that  the  crowd,  at  an  exhibition  of  fireworks  to 
celebrate  his  nuptials,  trampled  each  other  to  death  on  the 
Place  where  he  was  executed.  The  dauphin  was  born  on 
January  21  ;  the  flight  to  Varennes  was  on  June  21 ;  Sep- 
tember 21,  the  Assembly  abolished  royalty;  and  several 
other  times  the  number  21  had  been  connected  with  his 
misfortunes. 

False  rumors  of  course  soon  began  to  spread.  It  was  as- 
serted that  the  young  princess,  Marie  Therese,  on  hearing  of 
her  father's  death,  had  died  of  grief,  and  that  Marie  Antoinette 
had  been  taken  from  the  Temple  and  carried  to  another 
prison. 

On  the  evening  of  January  21  hardly  any  one  but  sans- 
culottes were  to  be  seen  in  the  streets  of  Paris,  and  these, 
excited  by  a  day  of  drinking  and  shouting,  fraternized  more 
demonstratively  than  ever  with  each  other. 

"  Other  kings  of  Europe  would,"  they  said,  "  have  made 
war  upon  us,  at  any  rate  ;  now  we  shall  all  be  more  eager  to 
beat  them.  The  same  impure  blood  flows  in  the  veins  of 
all  kings  ;  we  must  purge  the  earth  of  it  and  them." 

The  clubs  were  all  open  that  night,  but  the  most  interesting 
sitting  was  in  that  of  the  Jacobins.  After  the  example  of 
the  deputies  in  the  Assembly  they  seemed  only  anxious  to 
avoid  mention  of  the  king's  death,  and  to  discuss  the  murder 
of  Lepelletier  de  Saint- Fargeau.  Citizen  Saint-Andre'  made 
an  emphatic  eulogium  on  the  deceased.  A  brother  of 
Lepelletier  then  rose,  and,  by  degrees,  they  made  out  a  sort 
of  legend  concerning  him  and  his  death.  It  was  remembered 
that  he  had  said  four  months  before,  "  Happy  are  the 
founders  of  the  Republic,  even  if  they  pay  for  it  with  their 
own  blood."  And  an  historic  expression  was  substituted  for 
his  commonplace  last  words,  "  I  am  cold."  Then  the  club 
voted  that  its  members,  in  a  body,  should  attend  his  funeral. 
Not  one  word  was  said  about  the  execution  of  the  king. 

The  theatres  that  night  were  open  as  usual,  but  the 
attendance,  except  in  the  pit,  was  very  small. 

The  newspapers  said  little,  and  that  little  was  much  the 


22O  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

same  in  all  of  them.  One  paragraph  on  the  subject  was, 
however,  emphatic.  It  was  in  the  "  J  ournal  de  la  Rdpublique," 
edited  by  Marat. 

"  The  head  of  the  tyrant  has  fallen  beneath  the  sword  of  jus- 
tice. The  same  stroke  has  severed  the  very  roots  of  monarchy 
amongst  us.  I  now  have  hopes  for  the  Republic  !  How  vain 
were  the  fears  with  which  the  supporters  of  the  dethroned  despot 
endeavored  to  inspire  us  as  to  the  consequences  of  his  death,  in 
hopes  of  snatching  him  from  the  scaffold!  .  .  .  The  remainder 
of  the  day  has  been  perfectly  quiet.  For  the  first  time  since 
the  Federation  the  people  seemed  animated  by  a  serene  joy. 
One  might  have  thought  our  citizens  had  taken  part  in  a  religious 
festival.  Delivered  from  the  weight  of  an  oppression  which  has 
so  long  crushed  the  nation,  and  penetrated  by  a  feeling  of  frater- 
nity, all  hearts  have  yielded  to  the  prospect  of  a  happier  future." 

It  has  been  frequently  related  that  the  last  words  of  the 
Abbd  Edgeworth  to  the  king  were,  "  Son  of  Saint  Louis, 
ascend  to  heaven  ! "  But  one  who  was  near  the  scaffold 
has  said,  "  These  words  were  circulated  from  mouth  to 
mouth,  but  I  did  not  hear  them."  And  the  Abbe  Edgeworth 
himself  declared  that  he  had  no  recollection  of  having 
uttered  them. 

All  members  of  the  diplomatic  corps  quitted  Paris  after 
the  king's  death,  except  the  minister  of  the  United  States, 
Mr.  Gotiverneur  Morris.  He  had  not  given  up  his  post,  but 
retired  to  his  country  house  about  thirty  miles  from  Paris. 

The  day  when  the  news  reached  London  consternation 
was  great.  The  Theatre  Royal,  in  which  two  pieces  were  to 
have  been  played  that  night,  commanded  by  George  III. 
and  Queen  Charlotte,  was  closed ;  and  the  Marquis  de 
Chauvelin,  ambassador  of  France  (now  become  Citizen 
Chauvelin),  was  ordered  to  quit  England  immediately.  He 
left  London  the  next  morning  for  Paris. 

The  reigning  King  of  Sardinia,  Victor  Amadeus  III.,  had 
married  the  Princess  Marie  Adelaide  Clotilde,  sister  of  Louis 
XVI.  (she  was  called  Gros  Madame)  ;  while  his  two  sisters, 
Maria  Josefa  and  Maria  Theresa,  were  the  wives  of  the 
Comte  de  Provence  and  the  Comte  d'Artois.  As  soon  as 


THE  KING.  221 

he  heard  of  the  death  of  Louis,  he  showed  marks  of  the 
greatest  sorrow.  Then  he  raised  his  hands  to  heaven  and 
exclaimed  that  if  his  people  wished  to  adopt  French  fashions 
he  was  ready  to  step  down  from  his  throne.  Indeed,  in  his 
first  moments  of  despondency  he  abdicated.  His  people 
were  touched  by  his  grief,  and  refused  to  part  with  him. 
They  begged  him  to  let  them  take  a  new  oath  of  fidelity. 
He  consented,  and  was  carried  back  to  his  palace  in  triumph. 

The  Emperor  of  Germany  was  visiting  the  Prince  de 
Coloredo  when  the  Due  de  Richelieu  informed  him  of  the 
death  of  his  brother-in-law.  "  Sire,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
crape  upon  his  arm,  "the  cup  of  crime  is  full,  and  I  have 
received  the  sad  commission  of  informing  you." 

"  Monsters  ! "  cried  the  emperor.  "  Has  everything 
ceased  to  be  sacred  in  their  eyes?  "  And  he  burst  into 
tears. 

At  the  courts  of  Madrid.  Berlin,  and  St.  Petersburg,  sorrow  ' 
and  indignation  were  intense.     Again  the  Due  de  Richelieu 
was   the   messenger   who   carried   the    sad   tidings   to   the 
Empress  Catherine. 

At  Rome  the  news  increased  public  indignation,  though  it 
could  not  increase  the  hostility  of  the  government,  which  a 
few  days  before  (January  13)  had  allowed  the  populace  to 
murder,  in  open  day,  Citizen  Bassville,  secretary  of  the 
French  legation,  because  he  had  displayed  the  tricolor  of 
the  French  Republic. 

The  Comte  de  Provence,  the  king's  brother  (subsequently 
Louis  XVIII.),  was  at  Hamm  in  Westphalia.  The  news 
reached  him  on  the  28th  of  January.  He  at  once  assumed 
the  title  of  Regent  of  the  Kingdom,  and  addressed  a  procla- 
mation to  Frenchmen  who  were  exiles  in  foreign  lands. 

The  Prince  de  Conde  on  January  30  had  a  funeral  ser- 
vice in  the  Black  Forest  for  Louis  XVI.  An  anonymous 
author  composed  this  epitaph. 

"  Here  lies  King  Louis.     His  own  subjects  slew  him, 
In  spite  of  all  the  good  he  tried  to  do  them, 
Who  by  a  courage  never  told  in  story 
Changed  his  dread  scaffold  to  a  Throne  of  Glory.  " 


222  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

Thus  perished  Louis  XVI.,  King  of  France  and  of  Navarre, 
aged  thirty-eight  years  and  five  months  lacking  two  days, 
after  having  reigned  eighteen  years  and  been  in  prison  five 
months  and  eight  days. 

When  the  king  was  dead,  his  ring  and  other  remem- 
brances, which  he  had  wished  his  family  to  keep  for  his 
sake,  were  withheld  from  them ;  and  the  only  personal 
remembrance  which  his  sister,  who  was  tenderly  attached  to 
him,  was  able  to  secure,  was  a  battered  old  hat,  which  by 
some  accident  had  been  left  in  the  Tower.  This  hat  she 
treasured  as  a  most  valuable  relic.  It  did  not,  however,  long 
escape  the  prying  eyes  of  the  municipal  officers,  who  took 
it  away,  saying  that  its  preservation  was  a  suspicious 
circumstance  ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MARIE   ANTOINETTE   AND    ROBESPIERRE.1 

A  BOOK  appeared  in  France  in  1880,  called  the 
"  Memoirs  of  Klindworth."  Klindworth  was  a 
diplomatist  who  took  an  active  part  in  public  life  during  the 
early  half  of  the  present  century.  He  was  on  terms  of  per- 
sonal intimacy  (at  least  he  says  he  was)  with  Talleyrand, 
Metternich,  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  Lord  Palmerston,  and 
M.  Guizot ;  his  book  consequently  abounds  in  new  facts, 
such  as  underlie  the  graver  pages  of  pure  history.  One  of 
these  is  a  detailed  narrative,  given  to  him  by  a  certain  M. 
Grandidier,  charged  by  Robespierre  with  a  secret  mission  to 
Vienna,  in  July,  1793.  The  object  of  this  mission  was  to 
detach  Austria  from  the  coalition  against  France.  In  this 
extract  from  the  pages  of  Klindworth,  Grandidier  speaks  for 
himself. 

"  Baron  Thugut,  prime  minister  and  minister  for  foreign 
affairs  in  Austria  at  that  period,  received  me  very  amicably 
on  my  return  to  Vienna ;  and  when  I  informed  him  in  a  pre- 
liminary brief  interview  that  I  had  brought  with  me  fresh 
instructions  to  continue  negotiations  on  the  basis  he  himself 
had  proposed,  he  testified  his  satisfaction,  and  invited  me  to 
dinner  the  next  day.  I  went  to  his  official  residence,  there- 
fore, at  the  time  appointed.  We  dined  tete  d  fete,  and  the 
dinner  was  a  very  good  one.  Our  conversation  turned  on 
France,  and  on  the  general  situation  of  affairs.  After  din- 
ner the  minister,  having  left  me  for  a  moment,  returned  with 
a  lady  who  was  at  that  time  known  as  Madame  Charles  de 

1  From  the  "  Supplement  Litteraire  du  Figaro."  Translated  by  me 
and  published  in  "  Littell's  Living  Age,"  Dec.  18,  1880.  — E.  W.  L.- 


224  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

Poutet,  but  subsequently  she  got  leave  to  emblazon  on  her 
carriage  and  her  scutcheon  a  countess's  coronet.  She  was  an 
exquisitely  beautiful  woman;  her  limbs  were  as  finely  formed 
as  those  of  a  model,  and  she  had  the  most  perfect  carriage 
of  the  head  I  ever  saw.  I  was  dazzled  by  the  vision.  The 
minister  introduced  us.  She  spoke  French  fluently  with  no 
German  accent,  and  had,  in  a  remarkable  degree,  that  gift 
of  conversation  which  is  so  rarely  met  with,  out  of  France. 

"  As  she  took  leave  she  said,  '  Come  and  see  me  to-mor- 
row at  one  o'clock.  I  want  to  talk  to  you.'  Punctual  to 
the  appointment,  I  was  shown  next  day  into  a  spacious 
apartment  in  the  Imperial  Palace.  The  lady  did  not  keep 
me  waiting,  but  received  me  cordially,  and  invited  me  to 
take  a  seat  beside  her. 

" '  Before  I  begin  to  speak  of  other  things,'  she  said,  « I 
had  better  tell  you  that  presently  a  lady  will  appear  and  pass 
through  this  room.  I  beg  you  do  not  rise  or  take  any 
notice  of  her.' 

"  This  happened  very  shortly.  '  It  is  the  empress,'  said 
Madame  de  Poutet.  '  Her  curiosity  to  see  you  has  brought 
her  here.  Ah  !  you  have  no  idea,'  she  added  in  a  tone  of 
irony,  '  how  very  narrow-minded  you  will  find  us  in  this 
place.  We  cross  ourselves  when  any  mention  is  made  of 
France,  and  really  and  truly  most  people  imagine  that  each 
French  republican  carries  a  private  guillotine  in  his  pocket. 
But  a  truce  to  this  nonsense  :  let  us  talk  of  your  affairs.  I 
know  your  mission,  but  you  will  never  succeed  so  long  as 
Queen  Marie  Antoinette  and  her  daughter  are  not  set  at 
liberty  and  sent  back  to  their  family.  Blood  relationship, 
public  decency,  and  family  honor  absolutely  require  this 
condition  before  there  can  be  any  question  of  understanding 
between  Austria  and  France.  Let  me  ask  you  a  few 
questions.  I  quite  understand  how  Monsieur  de  Robes- 
pierre may  not  have  thought  of  this  in  the  busy  situation  in 
which  he  finds  himself,  but  how  does  it  happen  that  this 
obvious  view  of  the  matter  has  not  presented  itself  to  you  ? 
The  situation  of  the  queen  cannot  but  be  a  barrier  to  all 
entente  between  us,  till  it  is  changed.' 


MARIE  ANTOINETTE  AND  ROBESPIERRE.     22$ 

"  I  tried  to  speak,  but  she  begged  me  to  let  her  finish  on 
this  subject  all  she  wished  to  say. 

" '  You  must  not  imagine,'  she  continued,  '  that  any  per- 
sonal feeling  of  sympathy  makes  me  speak  as  I  am  doing. 
I  have  very  little  sympathy  either  for  the  queen  or  for  her 
late  husband.  One  who  has  been  born  a  king  should  know 
how  to  mount  his  horse  and  to  defend  his  royalty ;  and  the 
queen  of  a  great  country,  especially  in  a  time  of  trial  and 
misfortune,  should  not  lead  a  life  of  pleasant  dissipation. 
Les  peuples  resemble  monkeys ;  they  like  to  imitate  one 
another.  If  Charles  I.  of  England  had  never  been  beheaded, 
you  would  not  have  put  to  death  Louis  XVI.  But  the  queen 
is  alone  now,  without  her  husband ;  what  harm  can  she 
do  you?  To  put  women  to  death  is  as  atrocious  as  it  is 
stupid ;  and,  indeed,  have  you  any  right  to  bring  the  queen 
to  trial,  since  on  the  death  of  her  husband  she  resumed  her 
position  as  Archduchess  of  Austria?  She  belongs  to  us.' 

"  Madame  de  Poutet  here  paused.  She  seemed  waiting 
with  impatience  for  my  answer. 

"  '  After  what  you  have  done  me  the  honor  to  say,  ma- 
dame,'  I  replied,  '  I  regret  exceedingly  that  our  minister  did 
not  speak  to  me  on  this  subject  before  I  left  France.  When 
•  our  interview  closes  there  will  be  one  of  two  things  for 
me  to  do  :  either  I  must  go  back  to  Paris  and  ask  for  fresh 
instructions,  or  I  must  ask  for  them  in  writing  and  await 
them  here.' 

" '  Very  good,'  she  said  in  a  decided  tone,  <  stay  here  and 
write."1 

"  After  a  moment's  pause  she  added,  '  After  all,  it  does 
but  add  one  brief  clause  to  our  treaty.  What  are  your  own 
views  upon  the  subject?  ' 

"  '  I  have  no  opinions  about  it,'  I  replied.  '  The  libera- 
tion of  the  queen  is  no  small  matter,  in  the  state  of  ferment 
existing  in  the  minds  of  men  in  France.  On  the  other  hand, 
M.  de  Robespierre  well  understands  the  art  of  government, 
and  I  know  him  well  enough  to  feel  that  he  would  not  hesi- 
tate to  brave  public  opinion,  if  firmly  resolved,  as  I  think  he 
is,  to  make  peace  with  Austria.' 


226  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

" l  Qui  vent  la  fin  veut  Us  moyens '  (he  who  desires  the 
end  accepts  the  means),  she  said.  '  Write? 

"  My  answer  speedily  arrived  from  Paris.  It  was  short 
and  precise  :  '  Granted.  Come  back  to  Paris  as  soon  as 
possible,  with  the  draft  of  the  treaty  finally  drawn  up,  and 
accompanied  by  a  commissioner  with  full  powers,  in  writing, 
to  carry  out  the  extradition,' 

"  I  did  not  lose  a  moment  in  informing  M.  Thugut  of  this 
important  news.  He  told  me  to  communicate  it  at  once  to 
Madame  de  Poutet.  She  received  me  most  cordially  and 
graciously. 

"  (I  see/  she  said,  'that  all  will  now  go  right  between  us. 
The  queen  will  be  restored  to  us  with  the  young  princess. 
Remember  what  I  said  to  you  from  the  beginning.  That  is 
the  indispensable  condition  of  our  entente,  and  I  will  imme- 
diately set  to  work  with  Thugut  to  arrange  everything.  And 
now  that  we  no  longer  need  any  concealments,  I  will  tell  you 
plainly  that  the  cession  of  the  Low  Countries  to  France 
really  costs  us  nothing.  We  are  willing  to  get  rid  of  that 
horrid  nest  of  clericalism  and  rebellion.  The  Low  Coun- 
tries have  been  for  two  centuries  a  millstone  round  the 
neck  of  Austria,  without  doing  her  any  good  in  return.' 

"  All  being  as  I  have  told  you,"  continued  M.  Grandidier, 
"  the  treaty  was  completed  without  difficulty.  After  I  had 
had  a  second  conversation  with  the  minister,  we  both  signed 
the  draft  of  it  July  12,  1793." 

"  When  the  old  man,"  continues  Klindworth,  "  reached 
this  portion  of  his  narrative,  he  drew  out  of  a  bundle  of 
papers  one  containing  a  rough  copy  of  the  proposed  treaty 
between  France  and  Austria,  and  allowed  me  to  read  it  at- 
tentively. After  I  got  home  I  tried  to  remember  it  exactly, 
and  wrote  it  down.  This  is  the  substance  of  the  paper : 

ARTICLE  I. 

From  this  day  forward,  and  forever,  there  shall  be  firm  peace, 
friendship,  and  an  inviolable  good  understanding  between  the 
French  Republic  and  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  King  of  Hun- 
gary and  Bohemia.  Both  parties,  henceforward,  will  carefully 


MARIE  ANTOINETTE  AND  ROBESPIERRE.    22/ 

avoid  anything  calculated  to  disturb  the  reciprocal  harmony  of 
their  relations. 

ARTICLE  II. 

The  former  provinces  of  the  Low  Countries  are  ceded  by 
his  Majesty  the  Emperor,  forever,  to  the  French  Republic  ;  and 
shall  be  possessed  by  that  Republic  in  all  sovereignty  and  pro- 
prietary, with  all  the  territories  that  belong  to  them. 

ARTICLE  III. 

The  Emperor  renounces,  for  himself  and  his  successors,  all 
rights  and  titles  that  he  has  or  may  yet  have  on  the  countries 
situated  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Rhine,  from  the  frontier  of 
Switzerland  below  Basle,  to  the  confluence  with  the  Nethe 
above  Andernach  ;  comprising  the  tete  de  pout  at  Manheim, 
and  the  town  and  citadel  of  Mayence.  The  Emperor  also  prom- 
ises to  employ  his  good  offices  with  the  Empire,  that  it  may 
consent  to  the  cession  of  the  said  territories  to  the  French 
Republic. 

ARTICLE  IV. 

The  French  Republic  consents  that  the  Emperor  shall  annex 
to  his  dominions  the  countries  situated  between  the  Tyrol  and 
the  Danube,  the  Lech  and  the  Salza  ;  and  formally  promises 
him  all  assistance  he  may  need  in  arms,  if  any  third  power 
should  dispute  the  aforesaid  acquisition,  or  interfere  with  the 
tranquil  possession  thereof. 

ADDITIONAL  AND  SECRET  CLAUSE. 

Marie  Antoinette,  ci-devant  Queen  of  France,  shall  be,  to- 
gether with  her  daughter,  escorted  to  the  French  frontier,  thence 
to  be  returned  to  Austria,  her  native  country." 

"  I  was  anxious,"  continued  M.  Grandidier,  "  to  return  to 
Paris  with  all  speed,  together  with  the  commissioner  fixed 
on  by  Baron  Thugut  to  receive  the  queen's  person  in  the 
name  of  the  government  of  the  emperor.  He  was  a  canon 
from  the  Cathedral  Church  of  Waitsen  ;  a  man  of  about 
forty,  with  a  kind  and  engaging  expression.  His  name  was 
Soos.  He  knew  German,  spoke  Latin  after  the  fashion  of 


228  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

his  countrymen,  and  French  indifferently.  M.  de  Thugut 
treated  me  with  the  utmost  cordiality,  and  told  me  he  hoped 
soon  to  see  me  return  with  the  treaty  ratified.  I  then  went 
to  take  leave  of  Madame  de  Poutet.  '  You  are  a  dreadful 
republican,  I  know,'  she  said  gayly ;  '  but,  alas  !  I  am  greatly 
in  your  debt.  Salute  me  farewell,  and  bon  -voyage! 

"  The  commissioner  and  I  reached  Paris  about  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  An  hour  later  I  went  to  see  Robespierre. 
Mademoiselle  Cornelia,1  always  austere  and  always  busy,  was 
drying  clothes,  and  received  me  in  the  courtyard.  She  con- 
gratulated me  on  my  return,  and  told  me  that  le  patron  was 
closeted  with  his  brother  about  something  very  important, 
and  that  she  had  been  told  to  let  nobody  go  up  to  them.  I 
waited  half  an  hour.  After  that  the  door  opened,  and  I 
went  in. 

"  I  was  received  with  civility,  and  made  my  report,  which 
was  very  circumstantial.  I  then  handed  to  Robespierre 
a  copy  of  the  treaty  that  had  the  signature  of  the 
prime  minister  of  Austria,  announced  the  arrival  of  the 
emperor's  commissioner,  and  gave  in  an  account  of  my 
expenses  on  the  journey.  Everything  was  well  received. 
After  having  read  the  text  of  the  treaty  carefully,  and  ap- 
proved it  formally,  Robespierre  expressed  in  a  few  words 
his  satisfaction,  and,  while  I  was  answering  him,  he  wrote  a 
few  lines  upon  a  piece  of  paper. 

"'This  is  an  order  for  you,"  he  said,  'to  be  admitted  to 
the  Temple  to-morrow  morning  at  seven  o'clock,  with  Thugut's 
envoy.' 

"  '  Must  I  present  him  to  you  first } '  I  said. 

" '  There  is  no  need  that  I  should  see  him,'  he  replied. 
1  You  can  give  me  an  account  of  the  interview.  This  treaty,' 
he  continued,  '  gives  me  a  new  map  of  France,  by  which  I 
will  confound  and  subdue  all  traitors,  without  and  within.' 

"Then  he  made  me  a  sign  with  his  hand,  as  his  custom 
was,  and  so  dismissed  me. 

"The  next  morning,  at  the  appointed  hour,  the  canon 
and  I  presented  ourselves  at  the  Temple.  He  had  put  on 
1  The  name  given  to  Eleonore  Duplay. 


MARIE  AN7VINETTE  AND  ROBESPIERRE.     229 

a  black  coat  and  a  white  cravat  for  the  occasion,  and  was 
furnished  with  two  sealed  autograph  letters  from  the  emperor 
and  empress  to  the  queen.  Two  municipal  guards  and  a 
member  of  the  Council  of  the  Commune  were  waiting  for 
us.  By  their  orders  the  jailer  opened  the  doors,  and  soon 
we  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  queen. 

"  She  was  seated  on  a  low  stool,  busy  mending  a  petticoat 
of  coarse  black  serge.  Her  back  was  half  turned  towards 
us,  and  she  paid  at  first  no  attention  to  our  presence.  Her 
clothes  were  in  rags.  Over  her  breast  was  pinned  a  coarse 
white  kerchief,  and  her  shoes  were  very  much  worn.  She 
stooped,  like  an  old  woman.  She  was  deathly  pale,  and 
we  could  see  distinctly  that  under  her  little  cap.  her  hair 
was  as  white  as  snow.  I  made  a  few  steps  towards  her, 
and  bowing  respectfully  I  presented  the  messenger  of  the 
emperor. 

"  Then  glancing  at  me  for  the  first  time,  she  cast  upon  me 
a  look  that  all  the  days  of  my  life  I  shall  never  cease  to 
remember.  <Her  face,  once  so  gay  and  brilliant,  wore  an 
indescribable  expression.  It  was  one  of  almost  stolid  idiocy. 
The  canon  approached  her  in  his  turn,  made  a  low  bow  and 
presented  his  letters.  After  having  read  them  rapidly,  and 
with  apparent  indifference,  she  gave  them  back  to  their 
bearer,  and  in  a  hoarse  sepulchral  voice  said  in  French  : 

"'You  will  thank  the  emperor  and  empress  for  their 
thought  of  me.  You  will  tell  them  from  me  that  I  desire  to 
die  in  France,  like  my  husband ;  and  that  I  am  waiting 
impatiently  for  the  moment  that  will  reunite  me  to  him 
forever.' l 

"  I  wanted  to  say  more,  but  she  made  me  a  sign  to  be 
silent,  and  as  she  did  so  rose  and  went  away.  My  travelling 
companion  was  deeply  grieved.  He  wept  bitterly.  I  left 
him  at  once  to  make  my  report  to  Robespierre.  Robespierre 
heard  me  in  silence,  and  I  must  say  without  any  sign  of  sym- 

1  It  would  seem  as  if  Marie  Antoinette  was  prepared  to  expect  some 
cruel  stratagem  —  &guet-apens.  And  indeed,  for  she  was  still  stunned 
by  her  barbarous  separation  from  her  son,  how  could  she  have  turned 
her  back  on  Paris,  and  left  him  behind  ?  —  E.  W.  L. 


230  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

pathy  or  compassion.  Then  he  said  :  '  It  is  annoying,  but 
she  is  right  in  the  main.  What  part  has  this  woman  now 
among  the  living  ? '  Then,  after  a  little  pause,  he  resumed, 
'  You  will  go  back  to  Vienna  immediately  with  the  commis- 
sioner, and  you  will  come  to  me  to-morrow  morning  at  five 
o'clock,  to  get  your  orders.' 

"  When  1  got  back  to  Vienna,  Baron  Tnugut  received  me 
as  an  old  friend.  I  perceived  at  once  by  his  manner  that 
the  affair  of  the  Temple  had  not  changed  his  views  regarding 
the  policy  of  the  French  alliance.  Besides  which  he  knew 
the  queen  too  well,  having  been  on  an  embassy  to  Versailles 
in  1777,  to  feel  great  sympathy  for  her,  and  I  could  read 
plainly  in-  his  face  that  the  resolution  of  the  widow  of  Louis 
XVI.  not  to  return  to  her  friends  in  Austria  was  a  matter  of 
perfect  indifference  to  him. 

"  When  I  showed  him  the  ratification  of  the  treaty 
signed  by  Robespierre,  he  expressed  his  satisfaction ;  but 
when  I  asked  for  that  of  the  emperor  in  exchange,  he  said : 
'  You  must  feel  that  that  for  the  present  is  impossible.  The 
queen  must  perish,  since  she  wills  it  so.  We  must  wait  until 
after  her  execution.  Then  I  will  seize  the  right  moment  to 
complete  our  work,  for  which  I  am  as  anxious  as  M.  de 
Robespierre.' 

"  I  next  called  upon  Madame  de  Poutet.  Her  reception 
was  very  different  from  that  of  the  minister.  I  never  visited 
her  again. 

"  When  I  got  back  to  France  it  was  under  melancholy 
auspices.  It  was  during  the  first  two  weeks  of  August,  1 793. 
The  country  was  in  a  state  of  great  excitement.  The  Con- 
vention had  ordered  a  levee  en  masse,  which  gave  a  fresh 
impulse  to  the  war,  greatly  to  the  annoyance  of  Robespierre, 
—  though  of  course  secretly.  Then  came  the  capture  ot 
Toulon  by  the  English,  surrendered  to  them  with  our  fleet 
of  seventeen  sail  of  the  line  and  five  frigates,  by  the  Legiti- 
mist traitor  Imbert,  who  in  a  pamphlet  published  in  1814 
dared  to  boast  of  his  infamy. 

"  All  this  renewed  the  European  crusade  against  France, 
and  was  the  cause  of  fresh  alliances  against  her.  New 


MARIE  ANTOINETTE  AND  ROBESPIERRE.     231 

treaties  and  new  subsidies  cemented  the  coalition  between 
England,  Prussia,  Austria,  and  Spain.  The  secret  treaty 
between  Thugut  and  the  French  Republic,  which  Robes- 
pierre had  thought  would  give  his  country  a  new  map  of 
France,  was  buried  beneath  English  gold  and  European 
ruin.  " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CLOSING  SCENES   IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

A  BRIEF  account  of  the  life  of  the  unhappy  family  in  the 
**•  Temple  must  preface  this  account  of  the  last  days  of 
Marie  Antoinette.1 

1  An  admirable  account  of  life  in  the  Temple  may  be  found  in 
Lamartine's  "  Histoire  des  Girondins ;  "  I  have  not,  however,  drawn 
on  it,  but  in  this  chapter,  and  a  subsequent  one  upon  the  dauphin,  I 
have  taken  my  narrative  from  a  much  briefer  account,  founded  ou 
the  memoirs  of  Clery  the  valet,  and  the  Duchesse  d'Angouleme.  I 
have  given  the  story,  however,  almost  in  the  words  of  Mrs.  Markham. 
I  was  brought  up  on  Mrs.  Markham's  Histories  of  France  and  Eng- 
land. I  vividly  recall  the  delight  with  which,  when  a  child  of  eight, 
I  devoured  surreptitiously  (as  I  supposed)  some  of  the  conversations 
in  the  History  of  England.  The  account  here  given  of  the  life  of 
the  royal  family  in  the  Temple  seems  burnt  into  my  memory.  I  have 
read  many  since,  but  this  one  holds  a  place  to  which  no  other  can 
attain  in  my  mind.  I  have  picked  out  the  narrative  from  the  "  con- 
versation "  that  contains  it,  —  each  chapter  of  history  being  supple- 
mented by  a  conversation  on  points  of  interest.  During  a  residence 
of  fifty  years  in  the  United  States  I  have  seen  only  one  copy  of 
Mrs.  Markham's  Histories,  and  that,  to  my  indignation  and  surprise, 
had  the  conversations  left  out.  I  knew  Mrs.  Markham  in  my  early 
life.  She  was  wife  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Penrose,  rector  of  a  parish,  I 
think,  in  Leicestershire;  Markham  was  a  nom  de plume.  I  am  sorry 
to  think  she  had  no  children.  She  was  a  daughter  of  Major  Cartwright, 
who  in  the  first  quarter  of  this  century  was  considered  a  dangerous 
Radical ;  his  daughter's  Histories  are,  however,  strictly  conserva- 
tive. I  must  allow  myself  a  little  anecdote  in  connection  with  Mrs. 
Markham.  In  1846  my  father  was  very  active  in  Admiral  Sir  Charles 
Napier's  canvass  for  the  borough  of  Mary-le-bone,  and  the  day  the 
election  was  decided  he  asked  me  to  lend  Sir  Charles  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham's  History  of  England.  "  For,"  said  he,  "  Sir  Charles  tells  me 
that  he  never  read  a  History  of  England  in  his  life,  and  now  that 
he  is  to  legislate  for  his  country  he  thinks  he  ought  to  look  into 
one!"  — E.  W.  L. 


MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 
{Leaving  the  Tribunal.) 


SCENES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.    233 

The  Duchesse  d'Angouleme  —  Marie  The'rese,  daughter 
of  Louis  XVI.  and  Marie  Antoinette  —  was  about  fourteen 
years  of  age  when  she  entered  the  Temple.  She  had  great 
difficulty  in  writing  her  journal ;  for  having  been  deprived 
of  pens  and  ink,  she  had  to  write  with  a  pencil  on  such 
scraps  of  paper  as  she  could  secrete  from  the  municipal 
guards.  These  scraps  were  afterwards  collected  together 
and  published. 

When  the  royal  family  was  first  placed  in  the  Little  Tower 
of  the  Temple,  they  had  the  comfort  of  being  together. 
There  was  a  good  collection  of  old  books  there,  to  which 
the  king  was  allowed  access,  and  these  books  and  the  in- 
struction of  the  dauphin  furnished  him  with  occupation. 
The  princess  tells  us  :  — 

"  My  father  rose  at  seven,  and  was  employed  at  his  de- 
votions till  eight;  afterwards  he  dressed  himself  and  my 
brother,  and  at  nine  came  to  breakfast  with  my  mother. 
After  breakfast  my  father  taught  my  brother  his  lessons  till 
eleven.  The  child  then  played  till  twelve,  at  which  hour 
the  whole  family  was  obliged  to  walk  in  the  garden,  what- 
ever the  weather  might  be,  because  the  guards  who  were 
relieved  at  that  hour  wished  to  see  that  all  the  prisoners 
were  safe.  The  walk  lasted  till  dinner,  which  was  at  two 
o'clock.  After  dinner  my  father  and  mother  played  at 
trictrac  or  piquet ;  or,  to  speak  more  truly,  they  pretended 
to  play,  that  they  might  have  an  opportunity  of  saying  a  few 
words  to  one  another." 

They  were,  to  be  sure,  allowed  to  speak,  but  only  in  a 
voice  loud  enough  for  those  who  were  incessantly  employed 
in  keeping  guard  to  hear  what  they  said.  They  had  observed 
that  when  they  were  playing  cards  they  were  not  quite  so 
closely  watched,  and  made  use  of  the  opportunity  of  saying 
a  few  words  to  each  other  unheard. 

"  At  six,"  continues  the  princess,  "  my  brother  went  again 
to  my  father  to  say  his  lessons,  and  to  play  till  supper-time. 
After  supper  my  mother  undressed  him  quickly  and  put  him 
to  bed.  My  aunt  and  I  then  went  up  to  our  own  apartment 
The  king  did  not  go  to  bed  till  eleven.  My  mother  worked 


234  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

a  great  deal  of  tapestry;  she  directed  my  studies,  and  often 
made  me  read  aloud.  My  aunt  was  frequently  at  prayer, 
and  every  morning  read  the  appointed  service  for  the  day ; 
she  read  a  good  many  religious  books,  and  sometimes,  at 
the  queen's  request,  would  read  aloud." 

Marie  Antoinette  was  deprived  of  all  her  women,  but  the 
king  was  permitted  to  retain  M.  Clery,  his  valet.  At  first 
they  were  allowed  to  have  a  woman  to  clean  out  their  rooms, 
light  their  fires,  and  do  all  the  harder  work ;  but  this  woman, 
who  was  a  low,  vulgar  creature  and  a  furious  Jacobin,  proved 
a  great  torment  to  them.  At  last  she  lost  her  intellect,  and 
for  a  time  they  had  the  great  trouble  and  anxiety  of  attend- 
ing upon  her  in  the  unhappy  state  to  which  she  was  re- 
duced. When  she  was  gone,  the  two  princesses  had  to 
make  the  beds  and  clean  the  rooms.  The  young  princess 
says  that  she  and  her  aunt  were  very  awkward  at  this  work 
at  first,  and  that  it  used  to  fatigue  them  exceedingly;  but 
they  preferred  anything  to  being  pestered  with  another 
female  Jacobin. 

Everything  seems  to  have  been  done  that  could  have 
been  thought  of  for  the  purpose  of  tormenting  the  unhappy 
family.  There  was  scarcely  a  moment  in  which  they  were 
not  exposed  to  some  fresh  insult  or  vexation.  They  were 
frequently  searched  to  see  that  they  had  no  treasonable 
papers ;  that  is,  what  the  municipal  officers  chose  to  call 
such.  They  were  deprived  of  almost  all  their  personal  com- 
forts. Their  needlework  was  examined,  and  at  last  their 
tapestry  was  taken  away,  under  pretence  that  it  might  afford 
them  some  secret  method  of  writing,  or  of  communicating 
intelligence  to  each  other  by  hidden  signs  or  devices.  While 
the  queen  was  giving  her  daughter  lessons,  a  municipal  officer 
was  continually  looking  over  their  shoulders  to  see  that  they 
were  not  employed  in  plots  or  conspiracies.  The  wretches 
even  carried  their  insults  so  far  as  to  accuse  Madame  Elisabeth 
of  stealing  a  china  cup  which  by  some  accident  was  missing. 

The  saddest  part  of  this  history  of  the  captivity  in  the 
Temple  is  that  which  took  place  on  July  3,  1793,  only  a 
few  days  before  the  queen  in  her  despair  was  seen  by 


SCENES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.    235 

M.  Grand  idler.     The  boy  was  taken  from  his  mother  and 
delivered  over  to  Simon. 

"Then,"  says  the  princess,  "my  poor  mother  would  sit 
whole  hours  in  silent  despair ;  and  her  only  consolation  was 
to  go  to  the  leads  of  the  Tower  because  my  brother  went 
often  on  the  leads  of  the  Tower  on  the  other  side.  The  only 
pleasure  my  mother  enjoyed  was  seeing  him  through  a  chink 
as  he  passed  at  a  distance.  She  would  watch  at  this  chink 
for  hours  together,  to  see  the  child  as  he  passed  ;  it  was  her 
only  hope,  her  only  thought.  But  this  mournful  satisfaction 
she  was  soon  deprived  of.  About  a  month  after  the  poor 
boy  had  been  taken  away,  she  was  roused  from  her  bed  at 
two  o'clock  one  morning  by  some  Commissioners  of  the 
Commune,  who  ordered  her  to  rise,  telling  her  they  were 
come  to  take  her  to  the  Conciergerie.  She  was  forced  to 
rise  and  dress  herself  before  these  men,  who  searched  her 
pockets  and  took  everything  out  of  them.  They,  how- 
ever, allowed  her,  as  a  great  favor,  to  retain  her  pocket- 
handkerchief  and  smelling-bottle,  lest  she  should  be  faint 
on  the  way." 

She  was  scarcely  suffered  to  take  a  hurried  leave  of 
Madame  Elisabeth  and  her  daughter.  It  was  on  passing 
through  a  low  doorway  that  day  that  she  struck  her  head, 
and  on  one  of  the  men  asking  her  if  she  was  hurt  she  re- 
plied, "  Nothing  can  hurt  me  now." 

When  Marie  Antoinette  first  reached  the  Conciergerie, 
General  Custine.  the  soldier-martyr  of  the  Revolution  (who 
had  begun  his  military  career  in  the  United  States  under 
Washington  and  Rochambeau),  was  turned  out  of  his  cell 
to  make  room  for  F Autrichienne ;  and  the  position  of  this 
cell  near  the  wicket  where  the  non-political  prisoners  saw 
their  friends  was  peculiarly  disagreeable,  since  it  was  mostly 
surrounded  by  a  noisy  crowd,  whose  filthy  language  offended 
the  ear  by  day  and  night.  It  must  be  remembered  that 
in  the  Conciergerie  were  confined  the  lowest  class  of  crimi- 
nals, as  well  as  political  prisoners. 

1  The  remainder  of  this  chapter  is  an  extract  from  an  article  in  the 
'*  London  Quarterly  Review,"  published  in  April,  1895. 


236  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

It  is  now  impossible  to  identify  the  exact  position  of  this 
cell.  We  only  know  it  was  one  of  the  worst  in  the  Con- 
ciergerie  and  in  the  worst  part  of  the  prison. 

The  removal  of  the  poor  queen  to  somewhat  better  quar- 
ters was  probably  due  to  the  humanity  of  the  concierge. 
After  the  affaire  de  fceillet  (a  plot  to  effect  the  escape  of 
the  queen,  set  on  foot  by  the  Chevalier  de  Rougeville,  and 
which  but  for  an  accident  might  have  succeeded),  Richard 
the  concierge  was  temporarily  deposed,  and  Bault,  a  man 
more  disposed  to  show  kindness  to  the  queen,  was  put  in 
his  place. 

Those  now  permitted  to  visit  the  cell  to  which  Marie 
Antoinette  was  removed  cannot  fail  to  feel  that  it  is  yet 
haunted  by  the  tall  figure  of  the  queen,  wearing  her  mourn- 
ing dress  of  black  caraco,  and  under  her  white  cap  bearing 
the  proud  suffering  face  that  Delaroche  has  painted.  Dumb, 
yet  speaking,  it  bears  witness  to  the  unmanly  indignities  in- 
flicted on  this  solitary  'and  most  unhappy  woman.  At  the 
end  is  a  heavily  barred  window  placed  high  in  the  wall, 
which  would  look  out  —  if  it  were  possible  to  look  through 
it — upon  the  courtyard.  Marie  Antoinette  was  placed  in 
solitary  confinement,  and  did  not  mix  with  the  other  prison- 
ers, among  whom  she  would  have  found  many  a  friend, 
though  some  of  the  sans-culotte  detemts  addressed  insults 
to  her  window.  The  wretched  place  —  it  is  especially  damp 
and  cold  —  is  full  of  memories  of  the  discrowned  yet  most 
regal  woman  who  had  to  bear  her  woes  alone,  without  the 
solace  of  human  companionship  or  sympathy.  On  the  right 
of  the  dismal  dungeon  looking  towards  the  window  was  an 
ordinary  small  prison  bed  of  sangle  (chaff).  An  attendant 
slept  in  the  cell,  and  behind  a  paravent,  or  folding  screen, 
were  placed  two  gendarmes.  There  is  now  no  furniture 
in  the  room,  but  there  is  the  crucifix  which  she  used  before 
leaving  for  the  scaffold  ;  and  there  is  an  altar  which  was 
erected  by  Louis  XVIII.  to  the  memory  of  the  murdered 
queen.  In  entering  the  cell  it  is  necessary  to  stoop,  and 
tradition  says  that  this  door  was  made  lower  in  order  to 
compel  her  Majesty  to  bow  her  head  before  the  power  of 


SCENES  7Ar  THE  LIFE  OF  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.    237 

the  Revolution.  The  altar  bears  an  inscription  in  Latin, 
which  describes  the  words  she  wrote  in  the  last  hours  of  her 
life  to  Madame  Elisabeth,  as  an  "  eternal  monument  of 
courage,  piety,  and  every  virtue."  It  adds,  "  All  you  who 
come  within  this  place  adore,  admire,  pray." 

Two  large  paintings  have  been  also  placed  in  the  cell 
which  have  no  particular  merit,  and  give  the  spectator  the 
feeling  of  their  having  intruded  there.  One  represents  the 
trial  of  the  queen  ;  the  other  her  removal  from  the  Temple 
to  the  Conciergerie. 

What  weary  nights  must  Marie  Antoinette  have  passed 
in  this  bare  cell,  with  the  prospect  of  a  terrible  death  always 
before  her  imagination !  She  suffered  especially  from  two 
dreads :  one  that  she  would  be  murdered  in  her  cell,  the 
other  that  she  would  be  torn  to  pieces  by  the  mob  on  her 
way  to  execution.  It  needed  almost  superhuman  courage 
to  bear  up  against  such  ghastly  apprehensions.  Then,  too, 
she  was  distracted  by  thoughts  of  her  children,  and  she 
knew  into  what  hands  the  dauphin  had  fallen.  She  spent 
seventy-five  days  in  the  Conciergerie,  coming  there  on  the 
night  of  the  2d  of  August,  1793,  and  leaving  it  for  her 
execution  on  the  morning  of  October  16  of  the  same 
year. 

She  was  in  no  way  dangerous  to  the  Revolution,  and  even 
the  leaders  of  the  Jacobins  hesitated  for  some  time  to  take 
her  life.  The  king  was  dead.  The  dauphin  was  be"ing  de- 
based and  slowly  killed.  They  had  nearly  all  they  could 
want,  and  they  had  destroyed  the  direct  line  of  their  mon- 
archs.  The  king's  brothers  were  out  of  reach,  and  the 
widowed  Marie  Antoinette  might  safely  have  been  allowed 
to  retreat  to  Austria,1  but  Robespierre  could  refuse  nothing 

1  We  have  seen  in  the  preceding  pages  that  this  was  contemplated 
by  Robespierre;  but  when  the  war  fever  in  August,  1793,  broke 
forth  afresh,  when  Toulon  was  surrendered,  and  a  levte  en  masse  was 
proclaimed,  there  was  no  longer  any  hope  of  calming  the  people  of 
France  or  of  propitiating  Austria.  Then  Marie  Antoinette's  fate  was 
sealed  ;  she  could  be  no  longer  serviceable  in  furthering  Robespierre's 
schemes,  whether  of  patriotism  or  ambition.  —  E.  W.  L. 


238  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

that  might  please  the  Jacobins.  The  people  of  France  did 
not  desire  her  death,  but  as  Riouffe  said  :  "  The  real  France 
was  then  dumb  and  deaf;  dumb  before  the  acts  of  a  gov- 
ernment only  known  to  her  people  by  its  dark  deeds  and 
its  terrible  power  ;  .  .  .  human  nature  was  more  degraded  in 
France  in  one  year  (the  year  II.  of  the  Republic)  than  it 
had  ever  been  in  Turkey  in  one  hundred  years." 

The  incarceration  of  the  queen  was  attended  with  all  the 
cruelty  which  belonged  to  that  godless  and  inhuman  time. 
She  suffered  severely  from  cold  and  had  to  use  her  meagre 
pillow  to  warm  her  feet.  Madame  Bault,  touched  by  the 
courteous  dignity  and  suffering  of  the  captive,  applied  to 
Fouquier-Tinville  for  more  coverings  for  the  queen's  bed,  or 
rather  for  the  bed  of  the  Veuve  Capet.  But  the  heartless 
wretch  replied:  "How  dare  ^you  ask  for  such  a  thing? 
You  yourself  deserve  to  be  sent  to  the  guillotine  for  doing 
so."  The  clothes  of  the  unfortunate  lady,  who  in  life  had 
been  accustomed  to  splendor,  were  miserable,  worn,  and 
insufficient.  No  looking-glass  was  allowed  her,  but  in  her 
pity  a  girl  named  Rosalie  Lamoriliere  —  the  hearts  of  all  the 
women  in  attendance  on  the  queen  were  more  or  less  softened 
towards  her  —  procured  a  little  common  mirror,  bought  on 
the  Quai  for  twenty-five  sols  d'assignats,  and  gave  it  to 
the  Queen  of  France,  who  used  it  up  to  and  upon  the  day 
of  her  death. 

When  Marie  Antoinette  reached  her  last  prison  she  looked 
thin,  weak,  and  worn  ;  her  hair  had  grown  gray  at  the 
temples,  and  her  sight  was  impaired.  One  eye,  indeed,  was 
of  little  use  to  her.  She  suffered  much  from  hemorrhoids, 
but  there  is  no  record  of  any  attempt  having  been  made  to 
procure  her  medical  assistance.  Her  jewels  had  been  taken 
from  her,  and  even  the  watch  she  had  brought  with  her  from 
Vienna.  The  loss  of  this  watch,  especially  dear  as  it  was 
through  association  with  her  youth,  cost  the  poor  queen 
many  silent  tears.  But  she  suffered  no  word  of  complaint 
at  this  or  any  other  insult  to  pass  her  lips.  After  she  was 
dethroned,  Marie  Antoinette  became  most  truly  queenly. 
All  the  levities  of  her  days  of  glory  and  temptation  had  been 


SCENES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.    239 

purged  and  burnt  away,  and  sorrow  and  suffering  rendered 
her  in  every  respect  more  noble.  She  was  thirty-eight  when 
she  was  executed.  It  would  seem  that  from  her  entry  to 
her  prison  to  the  day  of  her  death,  she  was  never  allowed 
to  leave  her  cell.  She  was  alone  with  sorrow. 

Her  personal  attendants  were  one  Lariviere,  a  woman  of 
eighty  ("  une  espece  de poissarde,  dont  elle  se plaignait  fort" 
says  Gaulot),  a  young  woman  named  Harel,  and  Rosalie 
Lamoriliere,  who  became  profoundly  attached  to  her.  The 
Baults  had,  to  please  their  employers,  to  hide  any  pity  or 
sympathy  beneath  a  show  of  external  roughness.  There  was 
no  chimney  in  the  queen's  cold  cell,  which  had  to  contain 
herself,  her  female  attendants,  and  two  gendarmes.  The 
Revolutionary  soldiers  never  left  the  chamber.  The  screen 
was  perforated  with  holes,  to  facilitate  observation.  The  bed 
the  queen  had  used  was  afterwards  assigned  to  Egalite 
d'Orteans,  who  had  voted  the  death  of  his  cousin ;  and 
when  he  had  been  guillotined,  it  was  given  to  the  Chevalier 
de  Bastion. 

The  queen  appeared  for  the  first  time  before  the  Rev- 
olutionary Tribunal  on  Oct.  12,  1793,  at  6  P.M.  The 
room  in  which  the  Tribunal  sat  in  the  Palais  de  Justice, 
which  formed  part  of  the  Conciergerie,  is  now  the  premiere 
chambre  civile,  and  she  ascended  to  it  by  a  staircase  now 
called  rescalier  de  la  reine.  The  place  was  lit  by  only  two 
candles.  The  queen's  chief  care  was  to  compromise  no  one 
by  her  answers.  Her  clear,  calm  replies  wanted  nothing  in 
dignity,  courage,  or  self-possession. 

The  second  examination,  or  trial,  took  place  October  14. 
Hermann  was  the  president  of  the  court,  Fouquier-Tinville 
the  accuseur publique  (or  prosecuting  attorney),  Fabricius  the 
greffier  (or  secretary).  The  jury  (it  is  as  well  to  hand  their 
names  down  to  infamy)  was  composed  of  Gannay,  a  wig- 
maker  ;  Martin  Nicholas,  a  printer ;  Chatelet,  a  painter ; 
Grenier  Crey,  a  tailor ;  Antonelle,  an  ex-deputy ;  Souberbidle, 
a  surgeon  ;  Trinchard,  a  cabinet-maker ;  Jourdeuil,  an  ex- 
constable  ;  Gemon,  Daver,  and  Suard.  They  were  all  paid 
hirelings,  furious  Jacobins,  and  mortally  afraid  of  Fouquier- 


240 


THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 


Tinville.  The  accusation,  or  indictment,  was  merely  a 
violent  statement  of  loose,  floating  prejudices.  But  Her- 
mann called  the  queen  "  cette  moderne  Medicis"  She  said 
with  lofty  eloquence :  "  I  was  a  queen  ;  you  have  dethroned 
me.  I  was  a  wife;  you  have  slain  my  husband.  I  was  a 
mother ;  you  have  torn  from  me  my  children.  Nothing  is 
left  me  but  my  life's  blood ;  slake  your  thirst  in  it,  but  do 
not  make  me  suffer  longer."  1  In  spite  of  the  nervous  strain 
of  such  a  trial,  the  queen  maintained  her  quiet,  dignified 
attitude.  She  made  no  appeal  to  justice  or  to  mercy ;  she 
evinced  no  weakness ;  she  showed  almost  no  visible  emotion 
except  when  she  repelled,  with  noble  indignation,  the  foul 
aspersions  thrown  upon  her  as  a  mother.  As  a  matter  of 
course  the  jury  found  her  guilty  on  all  counts,  and  she  re- 
ceived sentence  of  death.  t 

It  is  not  hard  to  imagine  that  impressive  trial  scene.  We 
know  the  room  and  can  easily  restore  the  fatal  chamber  to 
its  state  in  October,  1793.  Members  of  the  Revolutionary 
Tribunal,  five  judges,  officials  in  heavily  plumed  hats  and 
tricolor  sashes,  Fouquier-Tinville,  Herman,  the  squalid  jury, 
the  gendarmes,  the  prisoner,  —  we  see  them  all  by  the  dim 
candlelight,  in  that  long  night,  sitting  on  benches,  while,  as 
a  background,  Jacobin  spectators,  men  and  women,  crowd 
round,  involuntarily  half-awed  by  the  courage  of  the  woman 
who  met  her  fate  so  calmly. 

Robespierre,  until  the  last  days  of  his  tyranny,  always  af- 
fected an  appearance  of  legality  ;  and  this  even  when  the 
only  law  was  his  own  will.  For  form's  sake  the  queen  was 
allowed  counsel.  She  had  two  lawyers  assigned  her,  Chau- 
veau-Lagarde,  and  Troncon-Ducoudray.  They,  well  know- 
ing that  the  case  was  decided  in  advance,  put  forward  such 
pleas  as  they  dared  to  urge.  On  leaving  the  Tribunal  to 
return  to  her  cell,  Marie  Antoinette  was  conducted  by  a 
lieutenant  of  gendarmes,  De  Busne  by  name.  She  said,  "  I 

1  Her  exact  words  were  :  "  J'etais  reine,  et  vous  m'avez  detronee. 
J'etais  epouse,  et  vous  avez  fait  perir  mon  man'.  J'etais  mere,  et  vous 
m'avez  arrache  mes  enfants.  II  ne  me  reste  que  mon  sang ;  abreu- 
vea-vous  en  ;  mais  ne  me  faites  pas  souffrir  plus  longtemps." 


SCENES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.    241 

can  hardly  see  where  I  am  going."  In  her  cell  she  was 
allowed  pen  and  paper,  and  wrote  that  long  farewell  letter  to 
Madame  Elisabeth  which  was  given  to  Fouquier-Tinville, 
and  by  him  to  Couthon,  among  whose  papers  it  was  found. 

At  five  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  Oct.  16,  1793,  the 
rappel  was  beaten  in  all  the  Sections,  and  by  seven  o'clock 
the  armed  force  designed  to  guard  the  streets  between  the 
prison  and  the  scaffold  was  ready. 

At  eight  o'clock,  Rosalie  assisting,  the  queen  changed  her 
linen  for  the  last  time.  A  soldier  approached  and  looked 
on.  "  In  the  name  of  decency  let  me  change  my  under- 
clothes without  witnesses,"  cried  the  outraged  lady.  "  My 
orders  are  not  to  lose  sight  of  you,"  replied  the  brutal  Jaco- 
bin. And  she  had  to  manage  as  she  could,  crouching 
down  upon  her  bed,  and  screened  as  far  as  possible  by 
Rosalie.  The  honest  girl  tells  us  that  the  Committee  had 
ordered  that  she  should  have  no  kind  of  food  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  execution,  but  it  is  pleasant  to  know  that  a  cup  of 
chocolate  et  un  petit  pain  mignonette  (a  little  tiny  roll) 
were  supplied  by  the  charity  of  Rosalie  and  Madame  Bault. 
The  Jacobins  had  no  doubt  issued  their  chivalrous  order  in 
the  hope  that  the  poor  fainting  woman  might  show  weakness 
in  the  death-cart  or  on  the  scaffold,  and  so  disgrace  f  Autri- 
chienne,  but  their  base  intent  was  frustrated. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  turnkey  Lariviere  was  sent  by  the 
concierge  into  the  cell ;  and  to  him  we  owe  some  knowledge 
of  what  passed  there.  The  queen  said  to  him  sadly: 
"  Lariviere,  you  know  I  am  about  to  die.  Tell  your  respect- 
able mother *  that  I  thank  her  for  her  services  to  me,  and 
beg  her  to  pray  God  for  me." 

Three  judges,  accompanied  by  the  greffier  Fabricius,  en- 
tered the  cell.  The  queen  was  -kneeling  in  prayer  beside 
her  little  bed,  but  she  rose  to  receive  them.  They  told  her 
to  attend,  as  her  sentence  was  to  be  read  to  her.  She  re- 
plied in  a  firm  voice  :  "  Such  a  reading  is  useless ;  I  know 
the  sentence  only  too  well."  They  insisted,  however,  and 
the  clerk  read  the  document.  At  that  moment  Henri  Sanson 

1  The  poissarde  of  whom  at  first  she  had  had  reason  to  complain. 

16 


242  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

appeared,  a  young  man  of  gigantic  stature.  He  said  roughly 
to  the  poor  woman,  "  Hold  out  your  hands."  Her  Majesty 
retreated' a  step,  and  pleaded  that  the  king  had  not  been 
bound.  "  Do  your  duty,"  cried  the  judges  to  Sanson.  "  Oh ! 
man  Dieu  I "  cried  the  wretched  queen ;  she  thought  that 
she  was  then  and  there  to  be  assassinated.  Sanson  roughly 
seized  the  shrinking  hands,  and  tied  them  with  cruel  force 
too  tight  behind  her  back.  She  looked  up  to  heaven  and 
tried  to  restrain  her  tears.  Her  hair,  when  cut  off,  Sanson 
thrust  into  his  pocket,  and  it  was  burnt  in  the  vestibule. 
So  far  we  have  the  evidence  of  Lariviere. 

Marie  Antoinette  was  dressed  in  a  white  peignoir,  which 
usually  served  her  for  a  morning  gown,  and  wore  a.  fichu  de 
mousseline  crossed  over  her  breast.  On  her  head  was  a  little 
plain  white  linen  cap.  On  that  morning,  when  about  to 
rejoin  her  husband,  she  would  wear  no  mourning.  A 
Constitutional  priest,  M.  Girard,  cure"  of  St.  Landry,  was 
appointed  to  attend  her,  but  she  refused  his  ministrations. 
All  was  ready,  and  she  looked  round  her  cell  for  the  last 
time.  As  she  passed  along  the  corridors  on  her  way  to  the 
cart,  she  saw  several  of  the  other  prisoners  in  the  Concier- 
gerie,  and  took  a  farewell  of  them.  She  asked  for  a  drink 
of  water;  and  one  prisoner,  Madame  Caron,  brought  it  to 
her,  in  a  cup  which  is  now  preserved  as  a  precious  relic  in 
the  family  of  the  Comte  de  Roiset.  She  drew  near  the  grim 
office  where  the  business  of  the  prison  was  transacted,  on 
her  way  to  the  portal,  at  which  a  tumbril,  drawn  by  a  white 
horse,  awaited  her.  "This  is  the  moment  in  which  to  show 
courage,"  said  M.  Girard.  Her  proud  reply  still  echoes 
through  the  history  of  the  Conciergerie.  "  Du  courage  ?  11 
y  a  si  longtemps  que  j'en  fais  1'apprentissage  !  Croyez-vous 
qu'il  m'en  manquera  aujourd'hui  ?  " 

She  was  once  more  in  the  open  air,  and  mounted  the 
cart  with  difficulty,  owing  to  her  bound  hands.  She  ap- 
peared calm  and  indifferent  to  the  cruel  cries  of  the  mob. 
Near  St.  Roch  she  was  foully  insulted ;  but  at  the  angle  of 

1  "  Courage  ?  I  have  so  long  been  learning  it  as  an  apprentice;  do 
you  think  it  will  fail  me  on  this  day  ? '' 


SCENES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.    243 

the  Rue  Royale,  the  Abbe1  Puget,  attired  as  a  layman,  but 
recognizable  by  her,  managed,  to  her  infinite  comfort,  to 
make  her  a  sign  which  assured  her  of  absolution  in  articulo 
mortis.  The  scaffold  was  not  erected  exactly  where  that  of 
Louis  XVI.  had  stood.  It  was  placed  about  thirty  me- 
tres from  the  pedestal  on  which  the  guillotine  for  the  king 
had  stood,  on  which  now  had  been  erected  a  statue  to 
Liberty.  By  accident  she  trod  on  Sanson's  foot,  and  in 
spite  of  the  terrors  of  the  moment  the  instinct  of  a  lady 
impelled  her  to  apologize  to  the  executioner.  When  mount- 
ing the  steps  of  the  scaffold  she  lost  a  shoe,  which  was 
picked  up  and  sold  for  a  louis.  So  long  as  it  was  possible, 
her  eyes  were  raised  to  heaven.  The  plank  dropped ;  the 
knife  fell ;  and  the  executioner  held  up  the  head  to  show  it 
to  the  populace. 


BOOK    IV. 

THE   REIGN   OF   TERROR. 

I.  MARAT. 

II.  D  ANTON. 

III.  THE  FEAST  OF  THE  SUPREME  BEING. 

IV.  THE  FALL  OF  ROBESPIERRE. 
V.  A  CHAPTER  OF  EPISODES. 

Robespierre  as  a  Poet.  —  Robespierre's  Private  Life  at 
the  Duplays'.  —  The  Revolutionary  Calendar.  —  Uogs 
in  the  Revolution.  — "  Which?  "  by  Fran£ois  Coppee. 


-    CHAPTER   I. 

MARAT. 

T  1{  7E  are  in  the  habit  of  speaking  of  Marat,  Danton,  and 
*  ^  Robespierre,  the  three  leaders  of  the  Revolution 
during  the  Reign  of  Terror,  as  if  they  had  acted  together  in 
some  official  capacity,  —  formed,  in  short,  a  triumvirate  like 
that  of  Octavius,  Lepidus,  and  Antony.  This  is  not  correct. 
What  the  government  of  France  was  during  the  Reign  of 
Terror  it  is  very  hard  to  define.  Power  was  wielded  by 
each  of  these  three  men,  but  they  were  rarely  colleagues. 
When  the  king  was  deposed  after  the  loth  of  August,  the 
will  of  the  Convention  was  the  only  recognized  government. 
Danton  was  then  a  deputy,  —  a  young  penniless  lawyer 
of  Arcis-sur-Aube,  with  the  face  of  a  lion,  the  voice  of  a 
trumpet,  and  the  figure  of  a  Hercules.  He  had  taken 
a  leading  part  in  the  deposition  of  the  king  and  the  pro- 
clamation of  a  republic.  Marat,  after  exciting  the  people  by 
incendiary  articles  in  his  newspaper,  "  L'Ami  du  Peuple  " 
(subsequently  the  "  Journal  de  la  Republique  "),  had  pulled 
the  bell  of  St.  Germain  1'Auxerrois,  which  sounded  the  tocsin 


MARA  T. 


MARAT.  245 

on  the  loth  of  August.  Robespierre  was  not  seen  during 
those  days,  till  he  quietly  reappeared,  when  calm  was  re- 
established, as  a  member  of  the  Council  of  the  Commune. 
Those  members  were  apparently  self  appointed,  after  the  old 
municipal  authorities  had  been  driven  away  ;  and  Marat  was 
called  to  preside  over  his  colleagues. 

The  Convention,  not  being  able  to  superintend  all  business 
as  a  body,  selected  a  Committee  of  Surveillance,  which  soon 
became  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety.  Its  members  seem 
to  have  acted  as  ministers.  Danton  was  made  minister  of 
justice,  and  assumed  the  right  of  making  military  appoint- 
ments, while  Carnot  regulated  the  movements  of  the  thirteen 
armies  of  France.  Danton  had  risen  to  importance  in  the 
Convention  through  his  prominence  in  promoting  the  depo- 
sition of  the  king  and  the  establishment  of  a  republic.  His 
rough-and-ready  eloquence  also  gave  him  great  importance, 
especially  as  a  leader  of  the  Sections.  He  has  been  called  the 
Sans-culotte  Mirabeau ;  he  might  also  have  been  called 
the  "  noble  savage  of  the  eighteenth  century,"  —  for  much 
in  him  was  noble,  and  all  was  savage.  His  was  a  noble  pres- 
ence when  he  stood  up  in  the  Convention,  calm  among  his 
colleagues,  who  were  terrified  by  the  threatened  advance  of 
the  Prussians,  and  by  the  clangor  of  the  bells  that  called  to 
arms,  and  shouted  :  "  Legislators  !  it  is  not  the  alarm  cannon 
that  you  hear ;  it  is  the  pas  de  charge  against  our  enemies. 
To  conquer  them,  to  hurl  them  back,  what  do  we  require  ? 
//  nous  faut  de  faudace,  et  encore  de  Faudace,  et  toujours  de 
Faudace!"  (To  dare,  and  again  to  dare,  and  without  end 
to  dare !) 

Danton  was  prominent  in  the  affair  of  the  loth  of  August, 
and  may  be  said  to  have  captured  the  municipal  authority 
at  the  Hotel  de  Ville  upon  that  day.  There  had  been  sixty- 
two  districts  in  Paris,  the  most  revolutionary  of  which  was 
that  of  the  Cordeliers ;  in  this  Danton,  who  lived  within  its 
bounds,  had  been  prominent  from  the  time  of  his  arrival  in 
Paris.  The  Districts  subsequently  became  forty-eight  Sec- 
tions, that  of  the  Cordeliers  retaining  its  name. 

These  Sections  were  at  the  beck  and  call  of  the  municipal 


246  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

government  of  the  Commune  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  The 
Sections  and  the  municipality  formed  the  Commune ;  and 
though  Marat  was  decreed  especfal  honors  by  this  body,  the 
heart  and  soul  of  its  actions  for  a  time  was  Danton.  Early 
in  1792,  two  clubs  had  broken  off  from  the  Jacobins,  one 
going  to  the  right  under  Lafayette,  —  this  was  the  Feuillants  ; 
the  other  going  to  the  left  under  Danton,  —  this  was  the 
Cordeliers.  Robespierre  retained  his  connection  with  that 
of  the  Jacobins  to  the  last. 

Danton  has  always  been  accused  of  instigating  and  organ- 
izing the  massacres  of  September  in  the  prisons.  His  name 
does  not  appear  on  official  documents  in  connection  with 
those  massacres.  Marat  and  nine  others  signed  a  paper 
applauding  what  had  been  done  in  Paris,  and  exhorting  the 
municipalities  of  other  cities  to  do  likewise.  Marat  de- 
manded two  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  heads  of  aristocrats 
(some  say  two  hundred  and  seventy  thousand)  to  purge 
the  country. 

Danton's  guilt  in  connection  with  the  September  mas- 
sacres seems,  however,  to  have  been  determined  by  history. 
At  the  same  date  he  was  calling  out  all  Frenchmen  to 
resist  invasion,  and  it  was  not  inconsistent  with  his  theories 
that  he  endeavored,  by  the  terrorism  of  massacre  and  pun- 
ishment, to  break  the  spirit  of  the  royalists  remaining  in  the 
capital,  while  French  soldiers  were  marching  to  meet 
emigres  and  Prussians  on  the  frontier. 

The  prominent  part  assumed  by  Danton  at  this  crisis 
drew  on  him  the  jealousy  and  hatred  of  the  more  backward 
Robespierre.  They  seem  rarely  after  this  to  have  acted 
together  except  when  both  disapproved  the  sacrUegious 
festival  of  Reason,  with  its  goddess  and  its  orgy ;  and  Dan- 
ton  united  with  Robespierre  to  bring  Hubert,  the  instigator 
of  that  sacrilegious  fete,  to  the  scaffold. 

Robespierre  was  a  man  of  theories,  —  what  the  French 
would  call  a  doctrinaire  revolutionist ;  he  showed  the  same 
tendency  in  domestic  life  in  relation  to  matters  of  expense 
and  minor  things.  Danton  was  an  opportunist,  ready  to 
take  advantage  of  anything  that  might  promote  his  views. 


MARAT.  247 

Marat,  on  the  contrary,  was  hardly  what  might  be  called  a 
republican.  He  was  a  socialist  and  an  anarchist  of  the 
most  advanced  type,  and  it  was  as  an  enemy  of  republican- 
ism that  he  met  his  death  at  the  hands  of  Charlotte  Corday. 
Real  republicans  were  ashamed  of  him.  He  was  the  idol 
of  the  dregs  of  the  Parisian  populace.  He  had  been  more 
than  once  in  hiding,  and  several  times  on  the  verge  of 
denunciation  and  arrest.  He  was  not  a  speaker  who  had 
great  influence  in  the  clubs  or  in  the  Convention  ;  he  was 
not  a  member  of  the  Committee  of  Public  Safely ;  he  was 
not  a  ruler  who,  for  good  or  for  evil,  could  sway  the  Sections 
through  the  Commune  ;  but  as  L  'Ami  du  Peuple  he  could 
rouse  them  through  his  daily  sheet  to  frenzy.  His  doctrine 
was  that  which  we  now  call  Nihilism,  —  simple  destruction 
of  all  that  is,  which  others  must  take  the  task  of  building 
up  again,  —  their  work  to  be  also  destroyed  in  the  future. 
Marat  was  the  first  to  meet  his  death  of  these  three  leaders 
of  the  Revolution. 

The  Revolution,  like  Saturn,  devoured  its  own  children. 
Those  who  set  up  the  guillotine  perished  by  the  guillotine. 
These  few  words  seemed  necessary  before  recording  the 
last  days  of  Marat,  Danton,  and  Robespierre.  The  Giron- 
dists and  their  party  had  been  politically  extinguished  by 
the  events  of  May  30  and  June  2,  1794;  on  the  first  of 
these  days  a  mob  demanded  their  expulsion  from  the  As- 
sembly, but  without  result.  Three  days  later,  a  second  mob 
succeeded. 

The  greater  part  of  the  leading  Girondists,  after  their  ex- 
pulsion and  proscription,  went  into  hiding  in  Paris ; *  the  rest 
fled  to  the  provinces.  Eighteen  of  these  last,  among  them 
Barbaroux,  Buzot,  Gorgas,  and  Petion,  had  taken  refuge  at 
Caen  in  Normandy. 

This  city  had  become  a  centre  of  agitation.  It  was 
republican,  but  it  was  opposed  to  extreme  measures,  and 
had  resolved  to  set  itself  in  opposition  to  the  tyranny  of  the 
Convention.  A  committee,  sitting  in  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 

1  From  the  "  Supplement  Litteraire  du  Figaro"  of  July  15,  1893, 
—  July  13,  1793,  being  the  date  of  the  death  of  Marat.  —  E.  W.  L. 


248  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

had  assembled  a  small  body  of  troops  under  command 
of  Generals  Wimpffen  and  Puisaye.  The  Girondists  there- 
fore looked  on  Caen  as  a  place  prepared  to  make  resistance. 
But  events  turned  out  differently  from  what  they  antici- 
pated. Instead  of  the  men  whom  they  relied  upon,  their 
cause  was  taken  up  by  a  woman. 

There  lived  at  Caen  in  those  days  a  girl  of  the  age  of 
twenty-four,  who  concealed  under  an  exterior  of  almost 
angelic  gentleness  an  active  imagination  and  a  mind  full  of 
enthusiasm. 

She  had  up  to  this  time  lived  unknown  and  in  obscurity, 
though  her  family  had  an  illustrious  origin.  She  was  grand- 
daughter of  the  great  dramatist,  Corneille,  and  she  cherished 
in  her  heart  the  same  feelings  and  ideas  as  those  which 
animated  the  heroines  in  her  grandfather's  tragedies.  But 
bolder  than  Emilia  in  his  tragedy  of  "  Cinna,"  she  not  only 
conceived  her  plan  but  carried  it  out. 

Her  person  was  handsome.  One  of  her  contemporaries 
has  given  us  her  portrait. 

"Mademoiselle  Corday,"  he  says,  "was  not  tall,  but  she 
was  strongly  built.  Her  face  was  oval,  her  features  hand- 
some, but  on  rather  a  large  scale.  Her  eyes  were  blue 
and  keen,  her  nose  well  shaped,  her  mouth  and  teeth  were 
excellent.  Her  hair  was  a  rich  light  brown  ;  her  arms  and 
hands  might  have  served  as  models  for  a  sculptor.  Her  gait 
and  her  deportment  were  full  of  grace  and  self-respect." 

Marie  Anne  Charlotte  de  Corday  d'Armont  was  born  in 
1768  at  St.  Saturnin  on  the  Orne.  Her  father  lived  en  a 
small  property  in  the  neighborhood.  Although  his  birth 
connected  him  with  the  nobility,  he  was  an  earnest  partisan 
of  the  new  doctrines.  Possibly  his  poverty  inclined  him  to 
accept  them.  He  was,  indeed,  very  much  straitened  in  his 
circumstances,  and  his  wife  had  died  of  the  strain,  after  having 
given  him  five  children,  —  two  sons  and  three  daughters. 

As  his  children  grew  older  and  needed  education,  which 
to  give  them  was  beyond  his  means,  he  was  forced  to  part 
from  them,  and  he  was  glad  to  place  Charlotte  in  a  convent 
at  Caen,  the  Abbaye  aux  Dames. 


MARA  T.  249 

The  mother  superior,  Madame  de  Belzunce,  and  her 
coadjutrix,  Madame  Doulcet  de  Ponte'coulant,  took  a  great 
deal  of  notice  of  Charlotte  and  admitted  her  to  intimacy. 
It  was  through  this  intimacy  that  Charlotte  came  to  know 
M.  de  Belzunce,  a  young  colonel  of  cavalry,  and  Gustave 
Doulcet  de  Ponte'coulant,  both  relatives  of  these  ladies. 

But  the  Revolutionary  hurricane  destroyed  the  peaceful 
refuge  in  which  Charlotte  passed  her  early  girlhood.  Con- 
vents were  suppressed ;  and  the  young  girl,  who  could  not 
return  to  her  father,  who  was  now  more  than  ever  unable 
to  support  her,  went  to  live  with  an  old  aunt,  Madame  de 
Bretteville.  This  old  lady  inhabited  an  ancient,  dismal- 
looking  house  called  the  Grand  Manoir.  It  had  nothing 
grand  about  it  but  its  name,  having  only  two  stories  and 
three  windows  looking  on  the  street,  from  which  it  was 
separated  by  a  little  paved  courtyard.  An  arched  door, 
low  and  narrow,  served  for  its  entrance.  A  dark  passage 
and  a  spiral  staircase  led  to  the  living-rooms  on  the  upper 
floor. 

Charlotte's  bedroom  was  at  one  end  of  the  house.  With 
its  brick  floor  and  its  high  French  ceiling  and  its  immense 
fireplace,  it  looked  bare  and  comfortless.  Its  furniture  was 
scanty,  and  it  was  badly  lighted,  —  though  it  had  two  win- 
dows, one  with  small  diamond-shaped  panes,  which  looked 
out  on  the  courtyard,  while  the  other  overlooked  the  yard 
of  a  neighbor. 

But  Charlotte  little  cared  for  this.  She  lived  with  her 
own  thoughts,  and  her  thoughts  flew  far  from  her  little  dark 
chamber.  She  gave  some  help  indeed  in  the  household, 
which  had  the  services  of  only  one  old  servant ;  but  the  rest 
of  her  time  was  passed  in  reading  and  dreaming. 

Having  entire  liberty  to  read  what  she  liked,  she  devoured 
all  books  that  fell  into  her  hands.  "The  Adventures  of 
Faublas,"  and  the  "  Nouvelle  Hdloi'se,"  for  example  ;  books 
of  philosophy  and  romances.  The  authors  she  preferred 
were,  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  Plutarch,  and  the  Abb£  Raynal, 
whose  "  Histoire  philosophique  des  Etablissements  et  du  Com- 
merce des  Deux  Indes  "  especially  excited  her  admiration. 


250  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

The  words  "  Republic  "  and  "  Liberty  "  filled  her  with  en- 
thusiasm. She  took  the  deepest  interest  in  political  events. 
She  contrived  to  see  all  the  pamphlets  that  appeared  at  that 
period.  She  is  said  to  have  read  over  five  hundred  of  them. 
She  also  subscribed  to  five  newspapers,  one  of  which,  the 
"  Courier  des  De'partements,"  was  edited  by  the  Girondist 
Gorsas,  and  another,  "  La  Patriote  Francaise,"  by  Brissot  and 
Girey-Dupre'. 

Lonely  as  she  was,  all  this  reading  made  on  her  mind  and 
heart  a  deep  impression.  Plutarch,  when  he  told  her  the 
lives  of  great  men,  inspired  her  first  with  admiration,  then 
with  the  desire  to  emulate  them. 

Her  excited  imagination  —  she  having  no  one  with  whom 
she  could  exchange  ideas  —  made  her  live,  as  it  were,  in 
company  with  these  heroes.  She  identified  .herself  with 
their  exalted  thoughts,  their  noble  or  generous  actions,  and 
she  began  to  cherish  the  idea  that  she  too  might  be  capable 
of  doing  something  great.  Her  ardor  was  intensified  by 
the  very  air  she  breathed.  Circumstances  were  propitious 
to  great  deeds  ;  men's  minds  were  excited.  No  one  listened 
with  indifference  to  such  words  as  "  the  new  order  of  things," 
"our  country,"  "liberty,"  and  so  forth,  which  were  stirring 
up  Old  France,  and  seemed  to  predict  for  her  a  glorious 
and  happy  future. 

Charlotte,  like  the  ancient  heroes  she  admired,  was  an 
ardent  republican.  She  had  heartily  embraced  the  repub- 
lican cause ;  but  she  desired  a  republic  as  pure  as  it  would 
be  great,  and  she  thought  the  Girondist  party  alone  likely  to 
realize  her  ideal. 

She  was  waiting,  she  was  hoping  all  things  from  this 
party,  when  suddenly  things  changed.  Those  whom  she 
politically  loved  and  believed  in  were  overthrown,  van- 
quished, marked  out  for  destruction!  Their  place  was 
usurped  by  men  of  blood,  —  men  who  sullied  the  fair 
image  she  had  made  to  herself  of  the  government  that 
should  be. 

Must  all  that  she  had  hoped,  all  she  had  planned  for,  go 
down  in  this  shipwreck?  Never! 


MARAT.  251 

She  thought  of  her  heroes  who  had  died  to  save  their 
country.  She  wished  to  do  as  they  had  done,  —  to  be  their 
equal.  There  was  one  man  who  by  his  writings  and  his 
speeches  had  drawn  all  eyes  upon  him.  He  had  asked  for 
heads ;  he  invoked  executions,  —  and  against  such  things 
Charlotte  Corday  had  set  her  face.  Marat  inspired  more 
horror  seen  from  a  distance  than  when  he  was  seen  near ; 
not  only  horror,  but  fear.  It  was  Marat,  the  monster, 
who  must  be  stricken  down. 

If  no  one  else  dared  to  attempt  the  task,  she  would  accept 
it.  She  would  shed  his  blood,  and  give  her  own  in  exchange. 
What  matter?  She  would  have  achieved  true  glory. 
Glory  and  the  gratitude  of  the  thousands  she  would  have 
saved  would  be  hers. 

Having  come  to  this  resolution,  she  set  about  its  execu- 
tion. She  wanted  neither  confidant  nor  accomplice.  The 
work  should  be  all  her  own. 

Her  contemporaries,  who  could  not  comprehend  her 
motives,  at  the  time  accounted  for  her  action  by  saying  that 
love  and  vengeance  must  have  nerved  her  arm.  But  there 
is  not  a  particle  of  evidence  for  these  vulgar  conjectures. 

Fouquier-Tinville  was  the  first  to  make  the  insinuation. 
He  said,  "  This  female  assassin  was  in  love  with  De  Belzunce, 
a  colonel  killed  at  Caen  during  an  insurrection,  and  from  the 
time  of  his  death  she  conceived  implacable  hatred  against 
Marat."  The  truth  is  that  she  hardly  knew  De  Belzunce, 
who  was  killed  on  the  i2th  of  August,  1792  ;  and  the  first 
number  of  Marat's  infamous  paper,  "  L'Ami  du  Peuple,"  did 
not  appear  till  the  following  i2th  of  September. 

As  for  Barbaroux,  she  saw  him  only  three  times  at  Caen, 
and  Barbaroux  was  then  living  with  a  woman  named  Zelia, 
who  never  quitted  him. 

A  M.  de  Franquelin  has  also  been  named  as  Charlotte's 
lover,  and  a  M.  Boisjugan  de  Mingre'.  It  is  not  even  known 
that  she  ever  saw  either  of  them. 

Later  another  man  was  mentioned,  a  M.  Bougon-Longrais, 
procureur  syndic  of  Calvados.  This  much  is  true,  that  he 
had  an  affection  for  Charlotte  which  may  have  amounted  to 


252  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

love ;  but  it  is  equally  certain  that  there  exists  not  the 
smallest  indication  that  she  returned  his  affection.  She 
expressed  much  friendship  for  him ;  he  was  young  and 
amiable.  She  appreciated  his  merits,  and  they  had  many 
opinions  and  ideas  in  common ;  but  in  the  mention  she 
made  of  him  in  the  letter  she  wrote  to  Barbaroux  in  her 
last  hours,  it  would  be  hard  to  find  anything  but  sympathy 
and  esteem. 

The  fugitive  Girondists  had  taken  up  their  quarters  in  the 
Hotel  de  1'Intendance.  Charlotte  did  not  know  them,  but 
she  formed  a  plan  to  go  and  see  them,  and  to  enter  into 
relations  with  them. 

She  needed  a  pretext  for  her  visit,  and  found  it  in  her 
interest  in  Madame  de  Forbin,  an  old  friend  whom  she  had 
made  in  the  convent,  who  had  lost  her  pension  as  a  canoness, 
because  she  had  emigrated  six  months  before.  She  thought 
she  might  influence  the  proscribed  deputies  in  her  friend's 
favor. 

With  this  design  she  went,  on  the  2oth  of  June,  to  the 
Hotel  de  1'Intendance.  She  saw  Barbaroux,  and  made  her 
request  to  him.  The  Girondin  deputy  assured  her  that 
anything  he  might  say  would  be  worse  than  useless.  But 
she  had  her  own  ideas,  and  persisted.  Then  Barbaroux, 
taking  up  a  pen,  wrote  to  his  colleague  in  the  Assembly, 
Louis  Duperret,  who  had  remained  in  Paris,  begging  him  to 
do  what  he  could  for  Madame  Forbin. 

Barbaroux  received  no  answer,  for  the  letter  never  reached 
its  destination.  Charlotte  was  far  from  regretting  this.  It 
assisted  her  in  her  true  design.  She  resolved  to  go  to  Paris 
and,  as  she  said,  attend  to  the  affair  herself;  she  would  call 
on  the  minister  of  the  interior. 

The  project  soon  took  shape,  and  Charlotte  prepared  for 
her  journey.  She  was  to  start  early  in  July.  Before  leaving 
home  she  was  present  at  a  review  held  by  General  Wimpffen. 
Under  the  very  eyes  of  the  populace  an  appeal  was  to  be 
made  for  volunteers  to  form  a  picked  band  to  march  to  Paris 
and  put  down  the  Convention.  But  only  seventeen  volun- 
teers stepped  out  of  the  ranks.  Charlotte  admired  their 


ATA  RAT.  253 

courage,  and,  far  from  being  disheartened  by  the  smallness 
of  their  number,  she  felt  her  own  purpose  fired  by  their 
example. 

She  asked  Barbaroux  for  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Louis 
Duperret.  Barbaroux,  who  suspected  nothing,  gave  her  the 
letter.  It  contained  these  passages  :  — 

"  I  wrote  you  by  way  of  Rouen  to  ask  your  good  offices 
in  an  affair  which  concerns  a  lady  who  is  our  fellow-citizen. 
All  that  you  need  do  is  to  get  from  the  minister  of  the  in- 
terior certain  papers  in  the  case,  which  you  will  forward 
to  Caen.  ...  All  goes  well  here  :  we  shall  soon  be  under 
the  walls  of  Paris." 

Charlotte  continued  to  conceal  her  design.  Before  setting 
out  she  paid  a  visit  to  the  abbess  of  the  convent  where  she 
had  passed  her  childhood,  but  gave  not  the  smallest  indica- 
tion, either  in  word  or  manner,  of  the  real  purpose  of  her 
journey. 

Once  only  she  let  fall  a  few  words  which,  had  any  one 
who  heard  them  entertained  any  suspicion,  might  have  given 
a  clue  to  the  real  reason  of  her  journey.  When  Petion  was 
complimenting  la  belle  aristocrate,  who  was  willing  to  visit 
republicans,  she  said  :  "  You  judge  of  me  without  knowing 
me,  Citizen  Petion.  The  time  will  come  when  you  will  know 
better  what  I  am." 

The  morning  that  she  started  on  her  journey  she  thus 
wrote  to  her  father  :  — 

I  owe  you  obedience,  dear  papa,  but  nevertheless  I  am  going 
without  asking  your  leave.  I  go  too  without  seeing  you  ;  it 
would  give  me  too  much  pain.  I  am  going  to  England  because 
I  do  not  think  it  possible  to  live  happily  in  France  for  a  long 
time  to  come.  As  I  leave  I  shall  put  this  letter  for  you  in  the 
post,  and  when  you  receive  it  I  shall  be  no  longer  in  this  land. 
Heaven  has  withheld  from  us  the  happiness  of  living  together, 
as  well  as  many  other  good  things.  Perhaps  it  may  show  more 
favor  to  our  country. 

Adieu,  my  dear  papa;  kiss  my  sister  for  me,  and  never 
forget  me. 

(Signed)  CORDAY. 


254  THE  FKEWCH  REVOLUTION. 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  Tuesday,  July  9,  she  left 
Caen,  taking  the  diligence  for  Paris. 

The  journey  lasted  two  days.  On  Thursday,  the  nth,  she 
reached  Paris,  and  went  to  the  house  of  Madame  Grollier, 
Hotel  de  la  Providence,  19  Rue  des  Vieux  Augustins,  a 
street  now  partly  destroyed.  That  same  day  she  went  to  see 
Duperret,  who  lived  in  the  Rue  St.  Thomas  du  Louvre. 
She  did  not  find  him  at  home ;  he  was  at  the  Convention. 

She  called  again  in  the  evening,  and  told  him  the  osten- 
sible purpose  of  her  visit,  and  he  promised  to  go  with  her 
the  next  day  to  see  the  minister  of  the  interior. 

After  she  left,  Duperret  said  to  his  daughters :  — 

"  That  seems  an  odd  adventure  !  The  woman  seems  to 
me  to  be  intriguing  about  something.  I  saw  something  in 
her  face  and  in  her  manner  which  struck  me  as  singular. 
To-morrow  I  shall  know  what  it  all  means !  " 

The  next  day,  July  12,  he  called  for  Charlotte,  and  took 
her  to  see  the  minister.  Their  visit  was  not  received,  and 
they  were  told  to  come  back  in  the  evening.  By  this  time 
Duperret  had  altered  his  first  impression  of  Charlotte.  "  I 
perceived  nothing  in  what  she  said  but  what  indicated  a 
good  citoyenne." 

At  this  moment  a  thing  happened  which  overthrew  their 
plans.  Duperret,  who  was  already  suspected  of  holding  com- 
munications with  his  proscribed  colleagues,  was  put  under 
surveillance.  His  house  was  searched,  and  seals  put  upon 
his  papers. 

He  was  not  yet  arrested,  and  he  went  to  warn  Charlotte, 
telling  her  that  his  recommendation  was  now  useless  and 
might  compromise  her. 

Charlotte  thanked  him,  and  said  that  she  should  do  no 
more  about  it.  The  pretext  had  served  her  purpose,  and 
she  was  not  going  to  carry  the  matter  further. 

Duperret  questioned  her  as  to  what  she  intended  to  do, 
and  asked  if  she  would  soon  go  back  to  Normandy.  She 
answered  that  she  did  not  know  exactly,  but  that  he  would 
hear  from  her,  and  he  had  better  not  come  and  see  her 
again. 


MARAT.  255 

As  they  were  about  to  separate,  Charlotte  seems  to  have 
become  conscious  of  her  imprudence.  She  began  to  feel 
that  she  had  probably  terribly  compromised  this  innocent 
man,  who  had  so  kindly  tried  to  serve  her. 

"  May  I  give  you  a  piece  of  advice  ?  "  she  said.  "  Leave 
the  Convention.  You  can  do  no  further  good  in  it.  Go 
down  at  once  to  Caen  and  rejoin  your  colleagues,  —  your 
brothers." 

"  My  place  is  in  Paris.     I  must  not  leave  my  post." 

"  You  are  acting  foolishly.  .  .  .  Again  I  say  escape.  Leave 
before  to-morrow  evening." 

He  persisted  in  his  brave  resolve.  She  had  already  said 
too  much.  She  stood  silent.  He  was  amazed,  but  went 
away,  not  having  understood  her  meaning,  and  never  guess- 
ing how  these  three  brief  interviews  would  tell  against  him. 

Meantime  Charlotte  made  inquiries  concerning  Marat. 
She  learned  that  he  was  ill,  and  not  going  to  the  Convention. 
She  had  to  give  up  her  first  design  of  killing  him  in  his  seat 
on  the  summit  of  the  Mountain.  She  determined  to  go  and 
kill  him  in  his  own  home. 

She  spent  Friday  evening  drawing  up  an  address,  "  Aux 
fran$ais,  amis  des  Lois  et  de  la  Paix" 

"  How  long,  O  unhappy  Frenchmen,  will  you  take  de- 
light in  disputes  and  in  divisions  ?  .  .  .  O  France  !  thy 
repose  depends  on  the  execution  of  thy  laws  ;  I  do  not  vio- 
late them  by  the  killing  of  Marat ;  condemned  by  the  whole 
universe,  he  is  an  outlaw.  .  .  .  What  court  will  condemn  me  ? 
If  I  am  guilty,  Hercules  was  guilty  when  he  destroyed  mon- 
sters. But  were  the  monsters  that  he  slew  as  hateful  to 
mankind  as  Marat  ?  .  .  .  O  my  country !  thy  misfortunes 
rend  my  heart.  I  can  only  offer  thee  my  life,  and  I  thank 
Heaven  for  giving  me  the  right  so  to  dispose  of  it.  ... " 

Then  came  some  lines  which  the  grand-daughter  of  Cor- 
neille  took  from  Voltaire's  "  Mort  de  Ce"sar  "  :  — 

"  Whether  the  world,  astonished,  loads  my  name 
And  deed  with  horror,  admiration,  blame, 
I  do  not  care,  —  nor  care  to  live  in  story. 
I  act,  indifferent  to  reproach  or  glory. 


256  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

A  free,  untrammelled  patriot  am  I. 

Duty  accomplished,  let  the  rest  go  by  .' 

Think  only,  friends,  how  you  may  break  your  chains."  .  .  .* 

She  then  ends  her  paper  with  these  brief  words  :  — 

"  My  friends  and  relations  should  not  be  molested :  no 
one  whatever  knows  what  I  intend  to  do." 

On  Saturday,  July  13,  1793,  Charlotte  rose  early,  and  by 
six  o'clock  she  was  at  the  Palais  Royal.  Boys  and  men 
were  crying  through  the  streets  the  morning  news,  telling 
how  nine  citizens  of  Orleans  had  been  condemned  to  death 
the  night  before,  ostensibly  for  the  murder  of  Le'onard 
Bourdon,  who  was  perfectly  uninjured.  Charlotte  bought 
a  paper,  then  she  went  into  a  cutler's  shop,  and  paid  forty 
sous  for  a  knife  with  an  ebony  handle  in  a  shagreen  sheath. 
She  then  went  back  to  her  hotel.  At  half-past  eleven  she 
came  downstairs,  took  a  fiacre  on  the  Place  des  Victoires, 
and  was  driven  to  the  residence  of  Marat,  Rue  des  Corde- 
liers (subsequently  Rue  de  1'Ecole  de  Me'decine),  Number 
20.  But  it  was  not  an  easy  matter  to  get  admitted  to  the 
presence  of  IS  Ami  du  Peuple.  The  portress,  named  Pain, 
the  cook  Jeannette  Marechal,  Simone  Evrard,  the  woman  who 
lived  with  him,  and  her  sister  kept  strict  watch.  Charlotte 
was  told  that  Marat  was  sick,  it  was  doubtful  when  he  could 
receive  her ;  and  they  refused  to  hear  the  entreaties  of  a 
woman  they  did  not  know. 

Charlotte  went  back  to  her  hotel  and  wrote  a  letter  to 
Marat  which  she  sent  by  la  pttite  paste. 

"  CITIZEN,  —  I  have  just  come  from  Caen ;  your  love  for  our 
country  makes  me  think  you  would  be  glad  to  know  something 
of  the  unfortunate  events  in  that  part  of  the  Republic.  I  will 
come  to  your  house  about  one  o'clock.  Have  the  kindness  to 

1  "  Qu'a.  1'univers,  surpris,  cette  grande  action 
Soit  un  objet  d'horreur,  ou  d'admiration, 
Mon  esprit,  peu  jaloux  de  vivre  en  la  memoire, 
Ne  considere  point  la  reproche,  ou  la  gloire. 
Toujours  independent,  et  toujours  citoyen, 
Mon  devoir  me  suffit  —  tout  le  reste  m'est  rien. 
Allez !  ne  songez  plus  qu'a  sortir  de  1'esclavage  ! "  .  .  . 


MARAT.  257 

receive  me,  and  to  grant  me  a  few  minutes'  interview.     I  will  put 
you  in  the  way  to  render  a  great  service  to  the  Republic." 

That  done,  she  put  off  the  execution  of  her  project  till 
the  evening. 

Now  as  to  Marat.  He  was  a  man  undersized  and  badly 
built,  with  a  sallow  complexion.  He  dressed  with  a  care- 
lessness almost  amounting  to  filthiness,  and  went  about 
always  muffled  in  an  old  green  cloak  trimmed  with  fur. 
He  wore  a  sort  of  handkerchief  upon  his  head,  and 
"looked,"  said  one  of  his  fellow-deputies,  "like  a  needy 
hackney-coachman."  As  rude  in  speech  as  he  was  careless 
in  dress,  he  called  everybody  coc/wn,  bete,  and  animal,1  and 
treated  every  one  accordingly. 

As  to  his  principles  and  disposition,  he  was  a  sanguinary 
madman.  He  dreamed  of  nothing  but  death  and  annihi- 
lation. His  policy  consisted  only  in  extermination.  All 
honest  men  were  attacked  in  his  paper;  he  was  purveyor  for 
the  guillotine,  the  most  shameful  blot  upon  the  Revolution. 

It  was  thus  that  Charlotte  Corday  looked  on  the  man  she 
was  about  to  sacrifice.  It  was  the  general  opinion  of  him, 
the  opinion  Marat  himself  wished  people  to  entertain,  and 
nothing  since  has  come  to  light  to  modify  it. 

But  this  portrait,  although  like  him  in  the  last  years  of  his 
life,  differs  greatly  from  any  portrait  that  could  have  been 
drawn  of  him  when  he  was  younger. 

He  had  been  a  man  of  literature  and  science ;  these 
things  in  1793  had  disappeared;  he  was  simply  a  ferocious 
partisan.  He  had  been  a  young  man  of  elegance  and 
distinction  ;  he  had  sunk  into  a  squalid,  dirty  sans-culotte. 

He  was  born  May  24,  1 743,  at  Boudry,  in  Switzerland ; 
his  father  had  come  from  Cagliari  in  Sardinia.  He  received 
a  good  education,  which  he  completed  in  literature  at 
Geneva. 

After  that  he  travelled  much  in  Europe,2  learned  most  of 

1  No  terms  of  reproach  in  French  are  more  insulting. 

2  Dumas  says  ill-treatment  in  Russia  soured  his  whole  nature  and 
unsettled  his  mind.  —  E.  W.  L. 

17 


258  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

the  European  languages,  and  called  himself,  in  the  language 
of  that  day,  "  a  student  of  humanity." 

While  in  England  he  got  his  diploma  as  a  doctor,  and 
about  1777,  on  his  return  to  France,  he  was  made  doctor  to 
the  body-guard  of  the  Comte  d'Artois.  He  had  at  that 
time  so  high  a  reputation  for  skill  in  his  profession  that 
people  paid  him  thirty-six  livrcs  a  visit. 

One  remarkably  successful  cure  increased  his  reputation, 
his  good  fortune,  and  the  jealousy  of  a  large  number  of  his 
fellow-doctors. 

The  Marquise  de  Laubespine,  niece  of  one  of  the  most 
illustrious  of  the  king's  ministers,  was  very  ill,  and  Bouvart, 
a  very  celebrated  physician  of  that  day,  pronounced  her 
case  hopeless.  Marat  was  sent  for,  promised  to  effect  a 
perfect  cure,  and  kept  his  word. 

The  poor  woman,  full  of  gratitude,  was  willing  to  testify 
it  in  every  possible  way :  and  Marat  became  her  lover. 
Then,  to  please  her,  he  affected  the  dress  and  manners  of  a 
man  of  fashion,  even  carrying  his  care  for  the  refinements  of 
the  toilette  to  an  extreme. 

Much  occupied  as  he  was  with  the  duties  of  his  profession, 
they  did  not  cause  him  to  give  up  his  taste  for  scientific 
research.  He  was  interested  in  heat,  light,  and  electricity. 
He  published  several  works  upon  these  subjects  which  gave 
him  a  considerable  reputation  as  a  savant. 

He  flung  himself  at  once  into  the  Revolutionary  move- 
ment; but  his  views  of  the  Revolution  differed  from  those 
that  most  other  people  interested  in  it  at  its  beginning 
entertained.  He  thought  the  disputes  between  the  Three 
Orders  in  the  States-General  absurd.  The  abolition  of 
the  privileges  of  rank  by  the  nobility  seemed  to  him  a 
ridiculous  concession.  He  did  not  divide  the  world  into 
nobles  and  non-nobles,  but  into  rich  and  poor ;  and  he  saw 
no  sense  in  giving  political  liberty  to  men  perishing  of 
hunger. 

He  became  the  champion  of  the  needy  and  the  famine- 
stricken.  He  called  himself,  and  made  others  call  him 
The  People's  Friend,  —  UAmi  du  Peuple.  The  class  to 


MARAT.  259 

whom  he  gave  his  sympathy  gave  him  in  return  its  affection 
and  ^support ;  and  he  thus  attained  immense  popularity  and 
power. 

By  degrees  the  excitement  of  the  struggle  and  the  fashion 
of  exaggerating  patriotism  made  him  lose  his  head.  All  ob- 
stacles irritated  him,  resistance  exasperated  him,  and  perse- 
cution had  the  result  of  turning  his  humanitarianism  into 
ferocious  hatred.  A  skin  disease  which  kept  him  in  a  con- 
tinual state  of  bodily  irritation  completed  his  transformation. 

Yet  even  thus  something  of  his  former  attractiveness  lin- 
gered about  him.  Fabre  d'Eglantine  has  described  him, 
and  his  portrait  is  worth  being  retained  :  — 

"  Marat  was  a  very  small  man,  hardly  five  feet  high ;  but 
he  was  strongly  built,  neither  too  fat  nor  too  lean.  .  .  .  He 
used  his  arms  gracefully,  and  with  much  gesticulation.  His 
neck  was  short,  his  face  broad  and  bony.  His  nose  was 
aquiline,  but  it  looked  as  if  it  had  been  flattened.  His 
mouth  had  a  contraction  at  one  corner.  His  forehead  was 
wide,  his  eyes  light  hazel,  full  of  spirit,  life,  and  keenness ; 
their  natural  expression  was  gentle  and  kindly.  His  eye- 
brows were  scanty,  his  complexion  sallow,  his  beard  dark, 
his  hair  brown  and  disorderly.  He  walked  rapidly,  with  his 
head  thrown  back.  His  favorite  attitude  was  to  cross  his 
arms  over  his  chest.  He  gesticulated  a  great  deal  when  he 
talked  in  company,  and  would  stamp  his  foot  to  emphasize 
his  words ;  sometimes  he  would  rise  on  tiptoe  when  he  be- 
came vehement.  His  voice  was  sonorous,  but  he  had  a 
defect  in  his  tongue  which  made  it  hard  for  him  to  pro- 
nounce clearly  c  and  s.  Yet,  when  accustomed  to  his  voice, 
the  earnestness  of  his  thoughts,  the  plenitude  of  his  expres- 
sions, the  simplicity  of  his  eloquence,  and  the  brevity  of 
his  words  made  his  hearers  forget  the  slight  defect  in  his 
enunciation."  1 

In  the  time  of  his  greatest  straits  and  difficulties,  about 
the  year  1790,  Marat  found  in  the  attachment  of  a  woman 
the  support  and  the  pecuniary  aid  he  so  much  needed.  This 

1  This  has  been  slightly  abridged.  Fabre  d'Eglantine  did  not 
cultivate  brevity  of  speech.  —  E.  W.  L. 


260  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

woman,  Simone  Evrarcl,  devoted  herself  to  him  and  became 
his  inseparable  companion.  She  watched  over  him  with 
jealous  care. 

For  eighteen  months  before  July,  1 793,  Marat  had  lived 
with  her  in  a  little  appartement  on  the  first  floor  of  a  house 
in  the  Rue  des  Cordeliers. 

A  large  arched  passage  led  to  the  staircase.  Near  the 
door  hung  an  iron  chain,  to  which  a  bell  was  fastened.  The 
visitor  first  entered  a  rather  dingy  ante-chamber;  then  on 
the  right  hand  was  the  dining-room,  separated  by  another 
room  from  the  little  closet  in  which  Marat  was  accustomed 
to  take  his  bath. 

About  half-past  seven  in  the  evening  of  the  fatal  day, 
Charlotte  Corday,  with  another  letter  in  her  hand  addressed 
to  Marat  in  case  he  should  not  have  received  the  first,  again 
went  to  his  house  in  the  Rue  des  Cordeliers. 

As  before,  a  close  watch  guarded  all  approach  to  UAmi 
du  Peitple.  She  met  with  another  refusal.  She  persisted, 
and  a  discussion  ensued,  the  noise  of  which  reached  the  ears 
of  Marat.  He  called  Simone  Evrard,  and  asked  who  wanted 
to  see  him ;  and,  as  he  had  received  Charlotte's  first  letter 
written  that  morning,  he  was  curious  to  hear  what  she  might 
have  to  tell  him  respecting  the  situation  at  Caen.  He  there- 
fore gave  orders  that  she  should  be  admitted. 

Marat  was  in  his  bath-tub,  of  the  form  of  a  slipper.  He 
was  wrapped  in  a  sheet,  which  left  his  arms  and  shoulders 
bare.  Pie  was  writing  on  a  little  plank  placed  before  him. 
He  asked  his  visitor  to  sit  down  at  his  left  hand.  They  thus 
found  themselves  on  a  line  ;  both  had  their  backs  turned  to 
the  little  window  which  looked  on  the  courtyard.  They 
were  alone. 

Marat  began  to  question  Charlotte  on  the  troubles  at 
Caen.  She  answered  that  eighteen  deputies  from  the  Con- 
vention, in  conjunction  with  the  authorities  of  the  Depart- 
ment, reigned  supreme  there,  and  that  all  the  men  were 
getting  themselves  enrolled  in  order  to  march  on  Paris  and 
deliver  it  over  to  lawlessness.  They  were  commanded,  she 
said,  by  the  four  deputies  of  the  Department 


MARAT.  26l 

He  asked  the  names  of  those  deputies,  and  of  their  prin- 
cipal supporters. 

She  named  Gorsas,  Lariviere,  Buzot,  Barbaroux,  Louvet, 
Bergoeing,  Potion,  and  others;  she  mentioned  also  four 
more,  called  administrators. 

While  she  spoke  he  was  writing.  When  she  ended,  "  I  '11 
have  them  all  guillotined  in  Paris  before  long,"  he  said. 

At  this,  as  if  she  had  only  waited  for  some  fresh  proof  of 
Marat's  thirst  for  blood,  she  rose,  grasped  the  knife  she  had 
concealed  in  her  dress,  and  with  one  thrust  plunged  it  into 
his  breast. 

"  A  moi!"  (Help  !)  he  called  to  Simone  Evrard. 

A  man  named  Laurent  Bas  was  in  the  house,  —  a  folder 
of  Marat's  newspaper.  He  heard  the  cry  and  rushed  in  ;  he 
met  Charlotte  Corday  in  the  next  room,  knocked  her  down, 
and  held  her  tight,  bruising  her,  cruelly. 

The  noise  brought  Simone  Evrard  to  the  spot.  She 
sprang  over  the  body  of  Charlotte  and  rushed  to  Marat. 
Blood  was  flowing  in  great  drops  from  his  wound.  She 
tried  to  stop  it  with  her  hand,  but  in  vain ;  the  water  in  the 
bath-tub  grew  rapidly  red. 

At  this  moment  came  in  a  dentist  who  lodged  in  the 
house.  He  had  his  office  there,  and  through  his  window, 
which  commanded  a  view  of  Marat's  bathroom,  he  had  wit- 
nessed the  bloody  spectacle.  He  put  a  compress  on  the 
wound  at  once.  Marat  was  lifted  from  his  bath  and  placed 
upon  his  bed.  Soon  it  became  evident  that  his  pulse  had 
ceased  to  beat.  L'Ami  du  Peuple  was  dead. 

Meantime  men  from  the  guard-house  of  the  Theatre 
Francais  (now  the  Odeon)  rushed  to  the  spot,  for  the  news 
spread  rapidly.  They  rescued  Charlotte  from  Laurent  Bas 
and  the  women  of  Marat's  household,  bound  her  hands,  and 
stood  guard  over  her. 

The  commissioner  of  police  soon  arrived  and  questioned 
her.  She  answered  clearly  and  simply,  with  perfect  sang- 
froid. She  told  her  motive  for  the  crime.  "  She  had 
seen,"  she  said,  "  civil  war  about  to  break  out  in  France ; 
and  believing  that  Marat  was  the  chief  cause  of  such  a 


262  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

disaster,  she  had  sacrificed  her  own  life  and  his  to  save  her 
country." 

Had  she  premeditated  the  murder?  She  answered,  "I 
should  not  have  left  Caen  had  I  not  intended  to  do  it." 

They  asked  her  if  she  had  not  tried  to  escape  through  the 
window. 

"  No,"  she  replied.  "  Had  I  escaped,  it  would  have  been 
by  the  door.  But  I  was  stopped  before  I  reached  it." 

The  commissioner  had  her  searched.  In  her  pockets 
they  found  twenty-five  silver  crowns,  a  silver  thimble,  several 
assignats,  a  passport,"  a  gold  watch,  a  trunk-key,  and  a  ball 
of  fine  thread. 

The  sheath  of  the  knife  she  had  used  was  still  in  her  dress. 
Other  police  commissioners  came  in ;  one  of  them  saw  a 
paper  in  her  bosom,  —  the  undelivered  letter  to  Marat.  He 
put  out  his  hand  to  seize  it  j  and  she,  dreading  some  inso- 
lence, drew  back  so  forcibly  that  the  lacing  of  her  dress 
burst,  and  she  found  her  bosom  uncovered.  Then  she 
begged  piteously  that  they  would  untie  her  hands  a  moment, 
and  allow  her  to  readjust  her  corsage.  An  assistant  did  her 
this  service. 

She  showed  her  wrists,  cut  and  chafed  by  the  cords,  and 
begged  that  they  would  let  her  pull  down  her  sleeves  and 
put  on  gloves  to  hide  the  wounds  made  on  her  wrists  by 
binding  them.  These  requests  were  granted,  and  she  re- 
covered her  habitual  serenity. 

The  whole  evening  had  been  taken  up  by  these  formali- 
ties, but  the  most  terrible  was  to  come.  She  was  to  be 
confronted  with  the  corpse  of  the  man  she  had  murdered. 
About  midnight  she  was  taken  to  where  his  body  lay  upon 
his  bed. 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "yes!  I  killed  him."  Her  voice  trem- 
bled with  emotion. 

Late  as  it  was,  an  angry  crowd  surrounded  the  house. 
Charlotte  had  to  be  got  out  of  it  and  taken  to  prison.  It 
had  been  decided  that  that  prison  should  be  the  Abbaye.  As 
soon  as  she  appeared,  cries,  shouts  of  rage,  and  threats  of 
vengeance  rose  on  all  sides.  She  came  near  being  torn  in 


RLOTTE  CORD  AY. 


MARAT.  263 

pieces.  .  .  .  Overcome  by  all  she  had  gone  through  during 
the  day,  she  fainted. 

But  she  came  to  herself  speedily,  astonished  and  disap- 
pointed to  find  herself  still  living. 

"  I  have  accomplished  my  work,"  she  said  as  she  revived  ; 
"  others  must  do  the  rest." 

When  she  was  safe  within  the  walls  of  the  Abbaye,  they 
searched  her  room  at  the  hotel,  and,  finding  the  name  and 
address  of  Citizen  Duperret  on  a  piece  of  paper,  he  was  at 
once  arrested. 

The  news  of  the  murder  flew  rapidly  through  Paris,  caus- 
ing great  astonishment  and  much  excited  feeling.  Every 
leading  "patriot"  thought  himself  in  danger.  "The  deed 
may  have  been  done  by  a  woman,"  they  said,  "  but  her  party 
inspired  it." 

The  next  day  a  mob  swarmed  into  the  Convention.  Sev- 
eral of  the  Sections  presented  addresses,  and  the  orator  of 
one  of  them  cried,  "Where  art  thou,  David,  —  thou  who  hast 
handed  down  to  posterity  the  portrait  of  Lepelletier  de  Saint- 
Fargeau  dying  for  his  country?  —  Now  another  scene  has 
been  prepared  for  thee !  " 

"  I  will  paint  it !  "  exclaimed  David. 

In  the  Council  of  the  Commune  Hebert  proposed  an 
apotheosis  of  Marat.  The  next  day  the  Convention  passed 
a  decree  that  its  members  in  a  body  should  attend  his  ob- 
sequies. The  day  was  fixed  for  Tuesday,  July  16,  1793. 

The  body  was  embalmed,  but  with  some  difficulty,  and  a 
magnificent  funeral  was  prepared.  The  tomb  alone  cost 
two  thousand  dollars,  and  the  whole  expense  of  the  celebra- 
tion amounted  to  rather  over  fifty-six  hundred. 

He  was  buried  in  the  garden  of  the  Cordeliers,  beneath 
some  trees.  Patriotic  addresses  were  pronounced  over  him, 
and  the  lower  classes,  who  really  believed  him  to  be  L'Ami 
flu  Peuple,  mourned  for  him.  On  his  tomb  it  was  recorded 
that  he  had  been  murdered  by  the  people's  enemies. 

Charlotte  at  the  Abbaye  was  placed  in  the  cell  once  occu- 
pied by  Madame  Roland,  and  afterwards  by  Brissot.  Two 
gendarmes  were  placed  also  in  the  cell  with  orders  not  to  lose 


264  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

sight  of  her  by  day  or  night.     She  asked  at  once  for  pen, 
ink,  and  paper,  and  wrote  the  following  letter :  — 

To  Citizens  composing  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety  :  — 

Since  I  have  still  a  brief  time  to  live,  may  I  hope,  citizens, 
that  you  will  permit  me  to  have  my  portrait  painted.  I  should 
like  to  leave  this  mark  of  my  remembrance  to  my  friends. 
Besides  which,  even  as  men  cherish  the  memory  of  good  citi- 
zens, so  curiosity  sometimes  makes  them  seek  memorials  of 
great  criminals,  which  serves  to  perpetuate  horror  for  their 
crimes.  If  you  deign  to  pay  attention  to  my  request,  I  beg  you 
will  send  me  to-morrow  some  painter  of  miniatures.  I  again 
implore  you  to  let  me  be  alone  while  I  sleep.  In  which  case 
believe  I  pray  you,  in  all  my  gratitude. 

MARIE  CORDAY. 

That  same  day  Charlotte  began  a  long  letter  to  Barbaroux. 
She  had  promised  to  send  him  news  of  her  journey,  and 
most  certainly  he  never  expected  the  news  he  would  receive. 

The  letter  itself  will  show  better  than  anything  else  the 
state  of  mind  of  Charlotte  Corday.  Her  ideas  of  morality 
were  those  of  a  heathen.  She  believed  herself  to  have  acted 
like  Brutus,  and  to  deserve  the  same  recognition. 

"  From  my  cell  in  the  prison  of  the  Abbaye,  the  same 
once  occupied  by  Brissot ;  the  second  day  of  preparation 
for  peace. 

"  You  wished,  citizen,  to  receive  some  account  of  my  jour- 
ney. I  shall  not  spare  you  the  smallest  details.  I  travelled 
with  some  rough  fellows,  men  of  the  Mountain,  whom  I  suf- 
fered to  talk  without  interruption,  and  what  they  said  being 
as  absurd  as  they  themselves  were  disagreeable,  I  dropped 
off  to  sleep.  I  only  really  awoke  when  we  reached  Paris. 
One  of  our  travellers,  who  apparently  had  a  fancy  for  girls 
who  were  asleep,  took  me  to  be  the  daughter  of  one  of  his 
friends,  attributed  to  me  a  fortune  that  I  have  not,  and  called 
me  by  a  name  I  had  never  heard.  He  ended  by  offering  me 
his  fortune  and  his  hand.  When  I  got  tired  of  his  wooing, 
I  said  :  '  You  have  entirely  mistaken  me.  We  are  acting  a 
play,  and  it 's  a  pity  there  are  no  spectators.  I  will  wake  up 
our  travelling  companions  and  let  them  share  the  fun.'  This 


MARAT.  265 

made  him  very  cross.  At  night  he  sang  me  love-songs,  which 
helped  to  send  me  to  sleep.  I  parted  from  him  at  last  at 
Paris,  refusing  to  give  him  my  address  or  that  of  my  father, 
which  he  asked  of  me.  He  left  me  much  annoyed.  I  knew 
that  people  here  might  interrogate  my  fellow-travellers,  and 
I  did  not  wish  to  know  any  of  them  enough  to  make  things 
in  that  case  disagreeable  for  them.  I  followed  the  advice  of 
uncle  Raynal,  who  says  that  truth  is  not  due  to  tyrants.  It 
was  through  another  woman  who  travelled  with  me  that  the 
police  here  have  found  out  that  I  know  you,  and  then  they 
discovered  I  had  spoken  to  Duperret.  You  know  Duper- 
ret's  constancy ;  he  told  them  the  exact  truth.  My  depo- 
sition confirmed  his.  They  have  nothing  against  him,  but 
his  firmness  is  a  crime.  I  feared,  I  own,  that  they  might  dis- 
cover I  had  seen  him.  I  was  sorry  I  had  done  so,  but  it 
was  too  late.  I  wanted  to  repair  my  error  by  begging  him 
to  go  at  once  to  join  you  ;  but  he  would  not,  being  decided 
to  remain  in  Paris.  Sure  of  his  innocence  and  of  that  of 
everybody  else,  I  set  about  to  execute  my  project.  Would 
you  believe  it?  Fauchet  is  in  prison  as  my  accomplice; 
he  had  never  even  heard  of  me.  But  they  are  not  satisfied 
with  only  a  woman  of  no  importance  to  sacrifice  to  the 
manes  of  their  great  man. 

"  Pardon  me,  partakers  of  human  nature  !  —  to  call  him 
a  man  dishonors  your  species.  He  was  a  wild  beast,  about 
to  destroy  France  utterly  by  kindling  civil  war.  Now  may 
Frenchmen  live  in  peace.  Thank  Heaven,  he  was  not  born 
in  France ! 

"  Four  members  of  the  Committee  were  at  my  first  ex- 
amination. Chabot  looked  like  a  madman,  Legendre  wished 
to  pretend  he  had  seen  me  in  the  morning  at  his  house,  — 
me  !  who  never  even  dreamed  of  seeing  the  man  ;  it  was 
not  my  mission  to  punish  every  one  of  them.  All  those  who 
saw  me  for  the  first  time  wanted  to  make  out  that  they  had 
long  known  me.  I  think  what  they  call  Marat's  last  words 
have  been  printed ;  I  do  not  think  he  said  any,  but  these 
are  the  last  he  spoke  to  me.  After  having  written  down 
your  name  and  those  of  the  administrateurs  of  Calvados, 


266  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

who  are  at  Evreux,  he  said,  for  my  satisfaction,  I  suppose, 
that  in  a  few  days  he  would  have  you  all  guillotined  in  Paris. 
These  words  decided  his  fate.  If  the  Department  puts  his 
portrait  opposite  to  that  of  St.  Fargeau,  they  had  better 
inscribe  these  words  under  it  in  letters  of  gold. 

"I  will  give  you  no  account  of  the  great  event.  The 
newspapers  will  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  own  that  what  finally 
decided  me  to  do  the  deed  was  the  sight  of  the  courage  with 
which  our  volunteers  came  forward  on  Sunday,  the  ;th  of 
July.  You  will  remember  how  they  delighted  me,  and  I 
resolved  to  make  Potion  repent  of  the  doubt  he  then  seemed 
to  entertain  as  to  my  feelings.  '  Would  you  be  sorry  if  they 
did  not  march  ? '  he  said.  And  then  I  reflected  that  so 
many  men  marching  to  get  the  head  of  one  man  might  very 
probably  miss  him,  and  at  any  rate  the  lives  of  many  good 
citizens  would  be  sacrificed  in  the  attempt.  When  I  left 
Caen  it  was  my  intention  to  sacrifice  him  as  he  sat  on  the 
summit  of  the  Mountain ;  but  he  was  not  attending  the 
Convention.  I  wish  I  had  kept  your  letter,  it  would  have 
clearly  shown  that  I  had  no  accomplices.  However,  that  will 
be  proved  in  due  time.  We  are  such  good  republicans  here 
in  Paris  that  no  one  can  conceive  how  one  useless  woman, 
whose  longer  life  might  have  been  little  good,  should  have 
deliberately  been  willing  to  sacrifice  herself  to  save  her 
country.  I  thought  they  would  have  killed  me  on  the  spot. 
But  some  brave  men  —  men  really  worthy  of  all  praise  —  pre- 
served me  from  the  fury  —  a  fury  certainly  excusable  — 
of  those  whom  I  had  bereaved  and  made  unhappy.  Though 
I  had  plenty  of  courage,  the  screams  of  those  women  made 
me  suffer.  But  when  one  hopes  to  save  one's  country,  one 
must  not  count  what  it  costs.  May  peace  be  established 
soon,  according  to  my  hopes  !  What  I  have  done  is  its 
preliminary.  It  would  never  have  come  while  he  lived. 

"  I  have  deliciously  enjoyed  complete  peace  the  last  two 
days.  The  happiness  of  my  country  makes  my  happiness. 
There  is  no  act  of  self-sacrifice  that  does  not  produce  more 
satisfaction  than  it  costs  suffering  to  decide  upon  it.  I  can- 
not doubt  that  they  will  in  some  way  persecute  my  father, 


MARAT.  267 

who  will  have  sorrow  enough  in  losing  me.  If  my  letters 
are  found,  they  will  be  full  of  pictures  of  you.  If  you  find 
any  little  jokes  made  about  you,  forgive  me  for  them.  I 
could  not  help  being  a  little  merry ;  it  is  my  character. 
In  my  last  letter  to  rny  father  I  made  him  think  that,  dread- 
ing the  horrors  of  war,  I  was  going  to  England.  My  idea 
at  that  time  was  to  keep  my  incognito,  to  kill  Marat  in 
public,  to  be  killed  on  the  spot,  and  to  leave  the  Parisians 
to  discover  my  name,  — which  they  could  not  have  done. 
I  beg  you,  citizen,  you  and  your  colleagues,  to  do  your  best 
to  defend  my  friends  and  relations  if  they  are  molested.  I 
say  nothing  to  my  dear  friends  who  are  aristocrats ;  I  hold 
their  remembrance  in  my  heart.  I  have  never  hated  any 
human  being  save  one.  I  have  proved  how  much  I  hated 
him ;  but  there  are  a  thousand  whom  I  love  more  than  he 
-was  hated.  An  active  imagination  and  a  feeling  heart 
would  probably  have  made  my  life  a  stormy  one.  I  beg 
those  who  may  regret  me  to  remember  this,  and  they  will 
be  glad  to  think  of  my  repose  in  the  Elysian  Fields,  with 
Brutus  and  other  ancient  heroes.  Among  the  moderns  there 
are  few  real  patriots ;  few  who  are  really  ready  to  die  for 
their  country.  Care  for  self  prevails.  What  sad  material 
for  the  formation  of  a  republic  !  But  first  we  must  secure 
peace,  and  good  government  will  come  afterwards,  provided 
the  Mountain  does  not  get  the  upper  hand.  At  least,  I 
think  so.  I  am  very  comfortable  in  my  prison.  My  jailers 
are  kind  men  ;  they  have  given  me  some  gendarmes  to  keep 
me  company.  I  like  that  well  enough  during  the  day,  but 
not  at  night.  I  complained  of  it  as  indecent,  but  the  Com- 
mittee has  not  thought  proper  to  pay  any  attention  to  my 
complaint.  .That  is  the  doing  of  Chabot.  None  but  an 
ex-Capuchin  could  have  thought  of  such  a  thing.  I  pass  my 
time  writing  songs.  I  have  given  the  last  verse  of  that  one 
of  Valady's  to  some  one  who  wanted  it.  I  tell  all  the  Pari- 
sians that  we  only  take  up  arms  against  Anarchy.  Which 
is  the  exact  truth."  .  .  . 

Here   the  letter  breaks  off.     The  trial  of  Charlotte   was 
pushed  on  rapidly,  and  on  the  morning  of  July  16  an  order 


268  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

from  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal  transferred  her  from  the 
Abbaye  to  the  Conciergerie.  The  decree  was  at  once 
executed.  The  President  of  the  Tribunal  proceeded  to 
examine  her.  The  great  wish  of  her  judges  was  to  prove 
she  had  accomplices,  to  unearth  a  plot.  To  this  end  a 
series  of  questions  was  put  to  her,  all  of  which  she  answered 
simply  and  clearly,  with  invariable  frankness. 

When  they  asked  her  why  she  had  come  to  Paris,  she 
answered,  — 

"  I  only  came  to  kill  Marat." 

"What  motives  made  you  determine  on  so  horrible  an 
action  ?  " 

"  His  crimes." 

"  What  crimes  do  you  accuse  him  of?  " 

"  The  desolation  of  France  and  the  civil  war  he  was 
about  to  ignite  in  all  parts  of  the  country." 

"  On  what  do  you  found  such  an  imputation  ?  " 

"  His  crimes  in  the  past  were  the  indication  of  his  crimes 
in  the  future.  He  instigated  the  massacres  in  last  Septem- 
ber; he  kept  up  the  fires  of  civil  war,  that  he  might  be 
named  dictator ;  he  assailed  the  authority  of  the  people  by 
causing  deputies  to  the  Convention  to  be  arrested  on  the 
3ist  of  May  last  —  " 

"  When  you  struck  him  did  you  mean  to  kill  him  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  did." 

"  So  atrocious  an  action  could  not  have  been  committed 
by  a  woman  of  your  age  unless  it  had  been  suggested  by 
some  one." 

"  I  told  no  one  what  I  thought  of  doing.  I  did  not  feel 
I  was  going  to  kill  a  man,  but  a  wild  beast  who  was  devour- 
ing Frenchmen." 

The  president,  Montane',  then  questioned  her  as  to  her 
relations  with  Barbaroux,  Duperret,  and  others.  He  told  her 
that  no  one  would  believe  she  could  have  committed  such  a 
crime  unless  some  one  had  instigated  it. 

"You  must  know  little  of  the  human  heart,"  she  said. 
"  It  is  easier  to  execute  such  a  project  prompted  by  one's 
own  hatred  than  by  that  of  others." 


MARA  T.  269 

Finally,  the  president  asked  her  if  she  had  counsel. 

She  said  she  would  call  on  Citizen  Doulcet  de  Pont£coulant, 
a  deputy  from  Caen,  to  defend  her. 

She  was  then  taken  to  the  Conciergerie.  She  was  to  be 
re-examined  the  next  day.  She  spent  her  time  in  finishing 
her  letter  to  Barbaroux. 

"  I  have  been  transferred  to  the  Conciergerie,  and  the 
gentlemen  of  the  grand  jury  have  promised  to  forward  you 
this  letter,  so  I  go  on  with  it.  I  have  undergone  a  long  ex- 
amination ;  pray  get  it  if  it  is  published.  I  had  written  an 
address,  which  was  found  upon  me  on  my  arrest,  to  '  The 
Friends  of  Peace.'  I  cannot  send  it  you.  I  shall  beg  them 
to  publish  it,  but  probably  I  shall  ask  in  vain.  Last  night  I 
had  a  fancy  to  present  my  portrait  to  the  Department  of 
Calvados ;  but  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety,  from  whom 
I  asked  permission  to  have  it  painted,  has  given  me  no 
answer.  Now  it  is  too  late.  I  beg  you,  citizen,  to  show 
this  letter  to  Citizen  Bougon,  procureur  general  syndic  of 
the  Department.  I  do  not  write  to  him  for  several  reasons. 
First,  because  I  am  not  sure  he  is  now  at  Evreux  ;  secondly, 
because,  being  tender-hearted,  he  may  be  made  sorry  by  my 
death.  I  think,  however,  that,  being  a  good  citizen,  the 
hope  of  peace  in  France  will  bring  him  consolation.  I 
know  how  much  he  desires  it,  and  in  doing  my  best  to  bring 
it  to  pass  I  have  fulfilled  his  wishes.  If  any  of  my  friends 
ask  to  see  this  letter,  refuse  it  to  no  one. 

"  I  must  have  a  lawyer  for  my  counsel ;  it  is  the  custom. 
I  have  chosen  mine  from  the  Mountain ;  I  chose  Gustave 
Doulcet.  I  fancy  he  will  refuse  the  honor ;  it  would  not, 
however,  entail  much  labor.  I  had  thought  of  asking  for 
Robespierre  or  Chabot.  I  shall  ask  leave  to  dispose  of  the 
remainder  of  my  money,  and  I  should  like  it  to  be  given  to 
the  wives  and  children  of  those  brave  men  of  Caen  who 
have  started  for  the  relief  of  Paris. 

"  I  was  surprised  that  the  populace  let  them  take  me  from 
the  Abbaye  to  the  Conciergerie.  It  is  a  fresh  proof  of  the 
moderation  of  the  people.  Tell  this  to  our  good  fellow- 
townsmen  at  Caen ;  they  sometimes  break  out  into  little 
insurrections  which  are  not  so  easily  controlled. 


2/Q  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

"  To-morrow  at  eight  o'clock  my  final  trial  takes  place  ; 
probably  by  midday  I  '  shall  have  lived,'  as  the  Romans 
said.  The  inhabitants  of  Calvados  ought  to  be  thought 
highly  of  if  their  women  show  that  they  are  capable  of 
courage.  But  I  do  not  know  how  it  will  be  at  the  last ; 
and  it  is  the  end  that  entitles  work  to  a  crown.  I  have 
no  occasion  to  affect  indifference  to  my  fate,  for  up  to  this 
moment  I  have  not  felt  the  smallest  fear  of  death  ;  I  only 
value  life  for  its  power  to  be  useful.  I  hope  to-morrow 
Duperret  and  Fauchet  will  be  set  at  liberty.  It  is  said  that 
the  latter  took  me  to  the  Convention,  to  the  reserved  seats 
in  the  gallery.  What  business  would  he  have  had  to  take 
a  woman  there  ?  As  a  deputy  he  had  no  business  to  be  in 
the  reserved  seats,  and  as  a  bishop  he  ought  not  to  have 
been  escorting  women,  —  so  this  is  a  little  punishment  for 
him  ;  but  Duperret  has  nothing  to  reproach  himself  with. 

"  Marat  is  not  to  be  buried  in  the  Pantheon,  though  he 
well  deserved  it.  I  beg  you  to  make  a  collection  of  all 
documents  appropriate  to  compose  his  funeral  oration.  I 
hope  you  will  not  give  up  the  cause  of  Madame  Forbin. 
Here  is  her  address,  if  you  wish  to  write  to  her:  Alexandrine 
Forbin,  at  Mendresie,  near  Zurich,  Switzerland.  Pray  tell 
her  that  I  loved  her  with  all  my  heart.  I  will  now  write  a 
few  lines  to  papa.  I  send  nothing  to  my  other  friends  :  they 
had  better  forget  me ;  any  sorrow  for  my  death  would  dis- 
honor my  memory.  Tell  General  Wimpffen  that  I  think  I 
have  helped  him  to  gain  more  than  a  battle  would  have 
done,  by  facilitating  peace.  Adieu,  citizen.  May  all  who 
love  peace  think  of  me. 

"  The  prisoners  in  the  Conciergerie,  far  from  insulting 
me,  like  the  people  in  the  streets,  seemed  to  pity  me ; 
misfortune  ma.kes  the  heart  more  compassionate.  This  is 
my  last  reflection. 

"July  16,  8  P.M.  CORDAY. 

"  To  Citizen  Barbaroux,  deputy  to  the  National  Convention,  a  refugee 
at  Caen,  Rue  des  Carmes,  Hdtel  de  F  Intendance." 

She  then  wrote  to  her  father,  M.  de  Corday  d'Armont, 
Rue  de  B£gle,  Argenton. 


MARAT.  2/1 

Forgive  me,  dear  papa,  for  having  disposed  of  my  own  life 
without  your  permission.  I  have  avenged  many  innocent  vic- 
tims ;  I  have  prevented  many  evils ;  the  people,  when  they  see 
things  in  their  true  light,  will  some  day  rejoice  that  they  were 
delivered  from  a  tyrant.  When  I  tried  to  persuade  you  I  was 
going  to  England,  I  hoped  to  kefip  my  incognito;  but  I  found 
it  impossible.  I  hope  you  will  not  be  molested;  should  you  be 
so,  however,  I  know  you  will  find  defenders  at  Caen.  I  have 
chosen  Gustave  Doulcet  for  my  counsel,  but  such  a  deed  has 
no  defense  ;  I  take  a  lawyer  only  for  form's  sake.  Adieu,  dear 
papa.  I  beg  you  to  forget  me,  or  rather  to  rejoice  at  my  fate  ; 
the  cause  in  which  I  suffer  is  noble.  I  send  kisses  to  my  sister, 
whom  I  love  with  all  my  heart,  as  I  do  all  my  relations.  Do 
not  forget  this  line  from  Corneille :  — 

"  Le  crime  fait  la  honte,  et  non  pas  1'echafaud." 
My  trial  is  to-morrow  at  eight  o'clock. 

July  1 6.  CORD  AY. 

The  next  day,  Wednesday,  July  1 7,  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  Charlotte  was  taken  before  the  Revolutionary  Tri- 
bunal. Montane'  presided,  assisted  by  three  other  judges. 
Fouquier-Tinville,  prosecuting  attorney,  was  in  his  place. 

The  twelve  jurymen  took  their  places  facing  the  prisoner. 
Their  names  are  obscure,  except  that  of  Leroy,  ex-Marquis 
of  Montflabert,  who  changed  his  royalist  name  for  the 
appellation  of  Dix-Aout  (loth  of  August). 

After  the  usual  questions  the  judge  asked  if  she  had 
counsel. 

"I  chose  a  friend,"  she  said,  "but  I  have  seen  nothing 
of  him.  Apparently  he  had  not  the  courage  to  undertake 
my  defense." 

The  truth  was  Gustave  Doulcet  had  not  received  Char- 
lotte's note,  and  did  not  know  of  her  request  till  some  days 
later. 

The  judge  then  named  for  her  counsel  Chauveau-Lagarde, 
with  Genier  for  his  junior. 

Witnesses  were  called.  The  grief  of  Simone  Evrard 
affected  Charlotte.  "  I  killed  him,"  she  cried,  hoping  by 
this  confession  to  put  an  end  to  a  painful  scene. 


272  THE  FRENCH  RE  VOL  UTION. 

She  denied  nothing.  She  stoutly  affirmed  that  she  alone 
had  planned  the  crime  ;  that  she  was  a  republican,  and  had 
been  driven  to  the  deed  by  her  love  for  France  and  the 
Republic.  She  was  asked  if  she  thought  she  had  killed  all 
the  Marats.  "  No,"  she  answered ;  "  but  the  rest  will  be 
filled  with  fear." 

While  she  steadily  answered  all  questions,  she  was  quite  alive 
to  what  went  on  around  her.  She  observed  that  a  spectator 
was  sketching  her  ;  and  having  failed  to  receive  any  favorable 
reply  from  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety  as  to  her  portrait, 
she  turned  her  head  so  that  he  could  get  a  good  view  of 
her. 

They  showed  her  the  knife  with  which  she  stabbed  her 
victim.  She  turned  away  her  eyes  and  said  hurriedly,  "I 
recognize  it ;  I  know  it."  Fouquier-Tinville  then  spoke : 
"  You  must  be  very  familiar  with  crime."  She  gave  a  sharp 
cry  and  said,  "Oh,  the  monster!  Does  he  take  me  fora 
common  murderess?" 

Her  letter  to  Barbaroux  was  read,  and  its  reading  seemed 
to  gratify  her.  Her  allusion  to  Chabot,  the  ex-Capuchin, 
made  her  laugh.  Fouquier-Tinville's  speech  was  more  mod- 
erate than  his  wont.  The  facts  spoke  for  themselves  ;  there 
was  really  nothing  to  be  said  either  by  the  defense  or  the 
prosecution. 

Her  counsel  Chauveau-Lagarde  described  in  after  days 
the  emotion  with  which  all  the  proceedings  of  that  day  had 
filled  him.  He  made  what  defense  he  could,  appealing  to 
the  jury  on  the  ground  that  the  murder  was  an  act  of  politi- 
cal fanaticism.  "  As  I  spoke,"  he  said  afterwards,  "  a  look 
of  satisfaction  illuminated  her  face." 

When  the  verdict  was  given  and  sentence  of  death  pro- 
nounced, she  turned  to  Chauveau-Lagarde  and  said  :  "  Mon- 
sieur, I  thank  you  for  the  courage  with  which  you  have 
defended  me  in  a  manner  worthy  of  me  and  of  yourself. 
My  money  has  been  confiscated  by  these  gentlemen,  but  I 
wish  to  give  you  a  still  greater  testimony  of  my  gratitude. 
I  beg  you  to  pay  for  me  what  I  owe  in  the  prison,  and  I 
count  on  your  generosity." 


MARAT.  273 

Chauveau-Lagarde  accepted  this  singular  legacy,  and  paid 
the  debt,  which  amounted  to  thirty-six  francs. 

"I  had  hoped  that  we  should  have  breakfasted  together," 
said  Charlotte  to  Richard,  the  concierge  of  the  Conciergerie, 
and  his  wife,  "but  the  judges  kept  me  so  long  yonder  I  had 
to  break  my  promise." 

She  refused  the  religious  services  offered  her  by  Abbe* 
Lothringer,  a  Constitutional  priest. 

"  Thank  those,"  she  said,  "  who  sent  you,  for  their  atten- 
tion ;  I  am  much  obliged  to  them,  but  I  do  not  need  your 
ministry." 

The  last  hours  of  her  life  were  employed  by  her  in  what 
she  had  more  at  heart.  The  young  painter  Huer,  who  had 
begun  to  take  her  picture  during  the  trial,  was  admitted  to 
finish  it  in  the  prison.  The  picture  is  now  in  the  Gallery  at 
Versailles. 

In  general,  there  was  little  interval  between  sentence  and 
execution,  but  this  time  the  latter  was  retarded  by  a  dispute 
between  the  chief  judge  and  Fouquier-Tinville  about  certain 
words  in  the  indictment,  which  so  excited  the  public  prose- 
cutor that  he  forgot  to  sign  the  order  for  the  execution, 
and  it  was  not  till  some  hours  after,  when  he  found  Sanson 
standing  at  his  office-door  waiting  for  it,  that  he  remem- 
bered the  omission. 

"  Qiwl!  Deja?"  said  Charlotte,  as  the  executioner  en- 
tered. She  tore  a  fly-leaf  from  a  book,  and  wrote  a  few 
lines  expressing  her  resentment  and  contempt  for  the  man 
who  she  (unjustly)  thought  had  declined  to  be  her  counsel. 

She  herself  cut  off  two  locks  of  her  beautiful  hair.  One 
she  gave  to  the  painter,  the  other  to  Richard,  for  his  wife. 
Then  she  gave  herself  into  the  hands  of  the  executioner. 

She  was  clothed  in  the  red  smock  always  given  to  mur- 
derers. The  cart  waited  before  the  door  of  the  Concier- 
gerie ;  a  fierce  crowd  surrounded  it.  When  Charlotte  ap- 
peared there  was  a  loud  volley  of  shouts  and  execrations, 
whilst  a  thunder-storm  burst  over  the  city,  and  thunder  and 
lightning  filled  the  air. 

The  rain,  the  flashes  of  lightning,  and  the  claps  of  thun- 
18 


274  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

der  had  no  effect  on  the  curiosity  of  the  crowd.  So  great 
was  the  mob  that  the  cart  could  only  move  very  slowly. 
Charlotte  stood  up,  though  Sanson  offered  her  a  chair. 
She  wished  calmly  to  look  on  at  the  explosion  of  hatred 
which  was  bursting  all  around  her. 

At  the  same  time  there  were  not  wanting  marks  of  sym- 
pathy, —  nay,  even,  of  admiration.  Some  people  had  for- 
gotten her  crime  and  thought  only  of  her  rare  courage  and 
serenity.  Among  these  unknown  friends  was  one  man  in 
particular.  He  was  a  young  deputy  from  Mayenne,  Adam 
Lux  by  name,  whom  the  Revolution  had  excited  to  enthu- 
siasm, and  the  Convention  had  welcomed  into  its  body. 

Adam  Lux  drew  close  to  the  cart  and  testified  his  pas- 
sionate admiration  for  the  victim  with  unparalleled  warmth 
and  demonstration.  He  proclaimed  her  to  be  "  more  noble 
than  Brutus,"  and  he  wished  he  were  about  to  die  with  her. 
He  did,  indeed,  die  subsequently  as  she  had  died,  —  by 
the  guillotine. 

Three  other  spectators  wished  to  gaze  on  the  young 
heroine,  but  they  stood  at  a  window  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore. 
They  were  Robespierre,  Danton,  and  Camille  Desmoulins. 
What  reflections  would  have  crowded  on  their  minds  as  they 
looked  down  upon  her  in  the  cart,  could  the  veil  that  hid 
their  own  fate  been  withdrawn ! 

Slowly  the  tumbril  made  its  way  onward.  It  was  two 
hours  since  it  had  quitted  the  Conoiergerie. 

"You  must  find  the  time  long,"  said  Sanson  to  his 
prisoner. 

"  Bah  !  "  she  answered,  "  we  are  sure  to  get  there  at  last." 

When  they  turned  on  to  the  Place  de  la  Revolution  San- 
son tried  to  place  himself  so  that  she  would  not  see  the 
guillotine,  but  she  stooped  and  leaned  forward.  "  I  have  a 
right,"  she  said,  "  to  be  curious.  It  is  the  first  time  I  have 
ever  seen  one." 

Still,  notwithstanding  her  courage,  the  sight  made  her 
grow  pale.  She  recovered  herself,  however,  almost  imme- 
diately. She  stepped  down  from  the  cart  and  mounted  the 
scaffold.  Then  she  bowed  to  the  crowd,  and  some  thought 


MARAT.  275 

she  was  about  to  address  them  with  a  few  words.  She  was 
drawn  back,  however.  One  of  the  executioners  pulled  off 
the  white  fichu  which  covered  her  neck  and  breast.  A  faint 
blush  colored  her  cheeks.  Then  she  lay  down  on  the  plank ; 
the  knife  fell ;  her  head  dropped  into  the  basket.  One 
of  Sanson's  assistants,  Legros,  seized  it,  held  it  up  to  the 
people,  and  slapped  the  face.  Tradition  says  her  cheeks 
blushed  at  the  outrage. 

With  thunder  and  lightning,  and  occasional  gleams  of  a 
summer  sun  breaking  through  the  clouds,  the  execution  took 
place.  The  body  was  at  once  removed  to  the  graveyard 
of  the  Madeleine,  and  buried  without  further  ceremony. 
In  1804  a  cross  was  placed  over  her  grave,  but  in 
1815  her  remains  were  finally  interred  in  the  cemetery  of 
Montparnasse. 

Never  did  any  citizen  receive  such  honors  after  death 
as  did  Marat.  We  say  nothing  of  his  funeral  orations,  in 
which  the  terms  in  which  he  was  praised  were  blasphemous. 
His  heart  was  placed  in  a  vase  of  agate,  found  among  the 
treasures  of  the  Garde  Meuble.  A  monument  was  erected 
to  him  on  what  is  now  the  Place  du  Carrousel,  and  it  was 
inaugurated  a  month  after  his  death. 

David  fulfilled  his  promise,  and  painted  Marat  in  his  bath- 
tub. His  bust  —  that  of  L'Ami  du  Peuple  —  was  paraded 
through  the  Sections.1  More  than  thirty  cities  or  villages 
asked  the  honor  of  taking  his  name  ;  chief  among  these  was 
Havre,  which  became  Havre-Marat.  Children  were  called 
Marat  as  their  "  given  name."  His  picture  was  hung  up  in 
the  schools,  and  rings,  brooches,  watches,  and  cravat  pins 
had  his  portrait.  Various  dramas  were  put  upon  the  stage 
concerning  his  death  and  his  apotheosis,  —  for  example, 
"  Marat  dans  1'Olympe,"  a  comedy  with  songs  ;  "  L'Arrivee 
de  Marat  aux  Champs  Elysees,"  etc.  Verses  and  ballads 
concerning  him  were  sold  in  all  the  streets. 

On  Nov.  19,  1793,  the  Convention  decreed  Marat  the 
honors  of  the  Pantheon.  This  was  a  month  after  the  exe- 

1  As  we  have  seen  in  Mr.  Griffith's  reminiscences.  —  E.  W.  L. 


276  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

cution  of  the  queen.  On  "Sept.  21,  1794,  the  ceremony 
took  place  with  extraordinary  splendor. 

But  even  then  the  popular  devotion  to  LAmi  du  Peuple 
was  on  the  decline.  A  few  months  later  the  Convention, 
though  it  did  not  dare  to  reverse  its  vote,  decreed  that  the 
honors  of  the  Pantheon  should  be  given  to  no  citizen  till 
he  had  been  dead  ten  years  (Feb.  8,  1 795). 

This  was  the  prelude  to  the  unpantheonization  of  Marat. 
In  January  they  had  begun  to  pull  down  his  monument. 
On  February  26,  his  remains  were  turned  out  of  the  Pantheon 
and  placed  in  a  neighboring  graveyard. 

Ever  since  that  time  his  name  has  been  a  mark  for  exe- 
cration, and  his  own  blood  shed  by  Charlotte  Corday  has  not 
effaced  the  stain  upon  his  memory  made  by  the  torrents  of 
blood  which  he  shed. 


CHAPTER   II. 

DANTON. 

T  T  EBERT  and  his  fellow-atheists,  who  said  in  their  hearts 
-*--*•  there  was  no  God,  and  yet  inconsistently  took  pleas- 
ure in  provoking  Him  to  anger  and  insulting  Him,  were  sent 
to  the  guillotine  on  March  7,  1794.  The  Hebertists  were 
the  new  Cordeliers.  The  old  Cordeliers  were  followers  of 
Danton.  There  was  great  confusion  both  in  the  club  of 
the  Cordeliers,  and  in  that  of  the  Jacobins.  The  condem- 
nation of  Hubert  led  to  clamors  against  Pitt.  If  the  Revolu- 
tion had  been  instigated  to  excesses  which  compromised  it  in 
the  eyes  of  other  nations,  who  could  have  been  the  instigator 
of  such  excesses  but  Pitt  ?  The  Jacobins  suspected  some  of 
their  own  members  of  being  concerned  in  a  conspiracy  to 
bring  the  Revolution  into  disrepute,  and  determined  to  purge 
themselves.  Camille  Desmoulins  had  given  them  offense, 
and  there  rose  murmurs  against  Danton  himself,  "  though  he 
bellowed  them  down,  and  Robespierre  embraced  him  in  the 
Tribune."  In  those  days  too  there  was  unearthed  a  financial 
scandal,  in  which  Philippeaux,  a  representative,  Fabre 
d'Eglantine,  Chabot,  and  Bazire  were  implicated.  Philip- 
peaux's  real  offense  was -that  on  his  return  to  Paris  after  a 
mission  to  La  Vendee,  he  brought  back  an  ill  report  of  Gen- 
eral Rossignol,  who  was  a  stanch  adherent  of  Robespierre. 
He  made  a  similar  charge  against  Westermann,  who  had  led 
the  Marseillais  to  Paris,  and  who  had  also  been  sent  into  La 
Vendee. 

Danton  had  grown  weary  of  turmoil  and  confusion.  He 
had  gone  down  with  his  young  wife  to  Arcis-sur-Aube,  his 
birthplace,  the  scene  of  his  boyhood.  After  the  proscription 
of  the  Girondists  he  had  been  urged  to  escape,  to  hide  him- 


2/8  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

self,  to  seek  an  asylum  in  some  foreign  land.  He  replied, 
"  If  free  France  casts  me  out,  there  are  only  dungeons  for 
me  elsewhere.  Does  a  man  carry  away  his  country  on  the 
soles  of  his  shoes?" 

On  the  purgation  of  the  Jacobin  Club  each  member  was 
asked  by  Saint-Just:  "What  deed  have  you  done  for  which, 
in  case  of  a  counter-revolution,  you  would  be  guillotined  ?  " 
Camille  Desmoulins  had  assuredly  done  many  such  deeds ; 
had  given  many  pledges  of  good  faith  to  the  Revolution. 
He  was,  however,  cast  out  by  the  Jacobins,  and  soon  after 
sent  to  prison  by  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety.  Danton  had 
ceased  to  be  a  member  of  that  committee.  Three  months 
after  its  establishment  he  had  proposed  that  all  power  should 
be  given  to  it,  and  a  sum  of  fifty  millions  of  money.  The 
power  it  assumed  ;  the  money  was  not  voted ;  and  Danton 
from  that  day  forth  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  com- 
mittee, though  it  repeatedly  solicited  him  to  return.  It  was 
a  body  in  which  the  members  held  brief  terms  of  office, 
but  they  re-elected  themselves  when  those  terms  expired. 
The  Committee  of  General  Security  was  to  it  a  sort  of 
sub-committee. 

After  the  arrest  of  Camille  Desmoulins,  things  became  so 
threatening  that  Danton's  friends  urged  him  vehemently  to 
leave  Arcis  and  return  to  Paris.  Dreading  the  result  of 
the  impending  struggle  between  Danton  and  Robespierre, 
some  friends  of  the  former  brought  about  a  meeting  between 
the  rivals,  but  this  meeting  did  but  inflame  the  hatred  and 
jealousy  they  were  so  anxious  to  appease.  "  It  is  right," 
said  Danton  to  Robespierre,  "  to  repress  Royalists ;  but  we 
should  not  strike  except  where  it  is  useful  to  the  Republic  ; 
we  should  not  confound  the  innocent  with  the  guilty." 

"And  who  says,"  cried  Robespierre,  "that  even  one 
person  who  was  innocent  has  perished  ?  " 

On  hearing  of  the  result  of  this  interview.  Danton's 
friends  again  urged  him  to  escape,  and  so  avoid  his  prob- 
able arrest. 

"  They  dare  not  arrest  me  !  "  cried  Danton,  proudly,  and 
would  take  no  measures  to  insure  his  safety. 


DANTON. 


D  ANTON.  279 

But  on  the  morrow  news  spread  over  Paris  that  Dan- 
ton,  Camilla  Desmoulins,  Philippeaux,  and  Lacroix  were 
prisoners. 

On  the  13  Germinal,  An  II.  (April  2,  1794),  the  trial 
of  Danton  for  conspiracy  against  the  Republic,  and  that  of 
his  accomplices  (so  called),  took  place.1  Excitement  ran 
high  in  Paris,  and  crowds  surrounded  the  Palais  de  Justice. 
The  accused  were  Jacques  Paul  Danton,  Camille  Desmoulins, 
He'rault  de  Sechelles,  Philippeaux,  and  Lacroix,  —  all  mem- 
bers of  the  Convention,  all  leaders  in  the  Revolution.  Their 
accusers  were  their  colleagues,  Robespierre,  Saint-Just,  and 
Couthon,  —  the  same  who  a  few  months  before  had  brought 
the  Girondists  to  trial. 

Every  precaution  had  been  taken  to  secure  conviction. 
Herman,  the  judge  who  presided,  could  be  relied  on  to  in- 
terrupt and  impede  the  defense  of  the  accused,  or,  if  neces- 
sary, to  suppress  it  entirely.  Four  other  judges  sat  with  him 
on  the  bench,  all  creatures  of  Robespi«rre.  Fouquier- 
Tinville  was  the  public  prosecutor,  and  the  jury  was  com- 
posed of  what  in  the  language  of  the  times  were  called  ties 
hommes  solides ;  that  is,  men  whose  opinion  could  be  relied 
upon  beforehand. 

As  a  further  precaution,  Danton's  case  was  united  to  that 
of  men  arraigned  for  a  financial  scandal  in  connection  with 
the  Compagnie  des  Indes,  several  of  whom  there  is  no  rea- 
son to  doubt  were  dishonest  stock-jobbers.  It  made  Danton 
indignant  to  be  placed  in  the  dock  beside  men  of  this  char- 
acter, of  whom  there  were  eight,  all  being  accused  as  his 
accomplices,  and  he  as  theirs. 

Danton,  Camille,  Philippeaux,  and  Lacroix  had  been 
arrested  m  the  last  night  of  March,  1794,  and  carried  to  the 
Luxembourg.  Danton,  when  warned  of  what  was  coming, 
had  replied  with  supreme  disdain,  "  A  man  who  sleeps  at 
home  every  night  with  his  wife  is  never  a  conspirator." 

The  vigorous  action  of  the  two  committees  took  him  by 

1  From  an  article  in  the  "  Supplement  Litteraire  du  Figaro," 
April  7,  1894. 


280  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

surprise.  "  He  seemed,"  said  one  who  witnessed  his  arrest, 
"  rather  ashamed  of  having  been  duped  by  Robespierre." 

His  arrival  at  -the  Luxembourg  made  a  great  sensation 
among  the  prisoners. 

"  On  this  very  day  of  the  month,"  he  said,  "  I  proposed 
the  establishment  of  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal ;  now  for 
that  act  I  ask  pardon  of  God  and  of  my  fellow-men.  I  never 
meant  that  it  should  be  the  scourge  of  humanity ;  I  intended 
that  by  legal  process  it  should  prevent  such  massacres  as 
took  place  in  September." 

Then,  turning  to  the  prisoners,  who  all  gazed  at  him  with 
astonishment,  amazed  to  find  him  one  of  themselves,  he 
said,  "  Gentlemen,  it  was  my  hope  that  I  might  soon  effect 
your  deliverance ;  but,  unfortunately,  here  I  am  a  prisoner 
among  you.  I  do  not  know  what  will  be  the  end." 

He  was  confined  in  a  dungeon  next  to  that  of  Lacroix, 
with  whom  he  conversed  in  a  loud  voice,  being  glad  to  let 
the  other  prisoners  hear  his  opinions  and  reflections,  which 
through  some  of^hem  might  be  transmitted  to  posterity. 

Some  of  his  remarks  have  been  thus  preserved  :  — 

"  I  leave  everything  in  France  in  deplorable  confusion. 
There  is  not  a  man  among  her  rulers  who  knows  anything 
of  statecraft." 

"  What  proves  the  Sieur  de  Robespierre  to  be  a  Nero  is, 
that  he  never  spoke  with  more  affection  to  Camille  Des- 
moulins  than  just  before  his  arrest."  l 

"  In  times  of  revolution,  authority  falls  into  the  hands  of 
rascals." 

Once  he  said,  "  If  I  could  give  my  manliness  to  Robes- 
pierre and  my  legs  to  Couthon,  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety  might  yet  last  for  a  while." 

Then,  thinking  of  his  little  house  at  Arcis-sur-Aube,  where 
his  young  wife  was  awaiting  Ijis  return,  he  began  to  speak  of 
its  rural  beauty,  of  its  trees,  of  its  repose.  "  Better,"  he 
cried,  "to  be  a  poor  fisherman  than  a  man  who  tries  to 
govern  men." 

1  Robespierre  had  been  best  man,  not  long  before,  at  Camille 
Desmoulins's  marriage. 


D  ANTON.  28l 

That  evening  the  prisoners,  after  examination,  were  sent 
to  the  Conciergerie.  The  next  day,  the  i3th  Germinal 
(April  2),  came  the  trial. 

At  two  in  the  morning  the  accused  were  brought  before 
the  Revolutionary  Tribunal.  The  first  place,  that  of  the 
criminal  of  most  importance,  was  not  accorded  to  Danton, 
but  to  the  ex-Capuchin  and  swindler  Chabot ;  then  came 
Bazire,  and  then  Fabre  d'^glantine.1  The  design  was  to 
dishonor  Danton  by  trying  him  in  the  company  of  men 
accused  of  dishonorable  ways  of  making  money.  But 
though  he  entered  fifth  among  the  prisoners,  all  eyes  were 
fixed  on  him.  There  he  stood,  the  man  of  the  Tenth  of 
August,  of  the  massacres  of  September,  the  founder  of  the 
Revolutionary  Tribunal  before  which  he  was  now  arraigned. 
Of  Herculean  strength  and  of  colossal  frame,  "he  sat  on  the 
bane  des  accuses"  as  an  eye-witness  expressed  it,  " as  the 
gentleman  of  sans-culotterie"  His  face  was  deeply  pitted  by 
the  small-pox,  his  nose  was  snub,  his  nostrils  in  the  air,  his 
lips  prominent,  and  his  small  eyes  darted  around  him  keen 
glances  of  scrutiny  and  of  disdain.  He  believed  himself 
about  to  crush  the  accusation  by  his  vehement  oratory,  as  he 
had  so  often  crushed  his  enemies  in  the  Convention. 

Two  men,  one  of  them  the  handsome  He'rault  de  Sechelles, 
separated  him  from  Carnille  Desmoulins.  The  jury  were 
then  sworn.  Camille  Desmoulins  objected  to  one  of  them, 
with  whom  he  had  once  had  a  personal  quarrel ;  but  this 
objection  was  set  aside. 

Danton  was  asked  the  usual  questions.    He  answered,  — 

"  My  residence ?  I  shall  soon  be  nothing;  afterwards  I 
shall  be  in  •  the  Pantheon  of  history.  Whichever  it  may  be, 
I  little  care." 


1  Fabre  d'Eglan  tine,  who  is  known' to  posterity  by  a  name  "which," 
says  one  of  his  admirers,  "  is  a  poem  in  itself,"  was  really  Philippe 
Fabre  (Anglice,  Philip  Smith,  or  Philip  a  worker  in  metals).  The 
d'Eglantine  was  assumed  because  he  had  gained  the  Eglantine  prize 
in  a  literary  competition  in  Provence,  —  one  of  those  societies  which 
Macaul  ay  says  "turned  those  who  might  have  been  thriving  attorneys 
and  useful  apothecaries  into  small  wits  and  bad  poets." 


282  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

The  trial  (not  of  Danton  and  his  friends,  but  of  the  rest) 
proceeded.  The  next  day  Westermann  was  brought  in  and 
placed  among  the  prisoners ;  he  was  the  personal  friend  of 
Danton,  and  that  outweighed  all  his  services  in  the  cause 
of  the  Revolution. 

The  report  of  Saint-Just  to  the  Convention,  accusing 
Danton,  was  then  read ;  he  was  denounced  as  "  a  partisan 
of  royalty."  At  length  Danton  was  called  upon  for  his 
defence. 

"  Danton."  said  the  presiding  officer  of  the  Tribunal,  "the 
Convention  accuses  you  of  having  favored  Dumouriez  :  of 
not  having  made  known  what  manner  of  man  he  was  ;  of 
having  taken  part  in  his  projects  of  liberticide  —  " 

Then  Danton  broke  forth  with  indignation  and  vehemence. 
The  judge  interrupted  him.  "  Danton,"  he  said,  "  such 
audacity  is  the  accompaniment  of  crime ;  the  innocent  are 
calm.  No  doubt  you  have  the  right  to  speak  in  your  own 
defense,  but  you  must  restrict  what  you  say  within  the  bounds 
of  moderation." 

"No!"  answered  Danton,  "audacity  in  self-defense  may 
be  wrong,  but  audacity  on  behalf  of  the  nation,  of  which 
I  have  shown  many  proofs,  is  right  and  lawful."  And  in 
the  same  strain  of  indignant  eloquence  he  continued  his 
defense,  protesting  that  all  men  knew  that  he  had  been  the 
true  friend  of  the  people,  the  most  ardent  defender  of 
liberty.  "As  I  look  over  this  list  of  lies,"  he  cried,  "this  list 
of  horrid  accusations  brought  against  me,  I  shudder  through 
all  my  bodily  frame  !  " 

Here  Herman  again  interrupted  him,  saying  that  he  was 
wanting  in  proper  respect  to  the  Convention,  the  Tribunal, 
and  the  Sovereign  People.  "  Marat,"  he  added,  "was  accused 
like  you,  and  was  acquitted.  He  defended  himself  with  re- 
spectful words.  I  cannot  point  out  to  you  a  better  example." 

At  this  Danton  lost  command  over  himself.  He  flamed 
with  anger.  "  I !  —  Do  you  say  that  I  sold  myself  to  Mira- 
beau,  to  Orleans,  to  Dumouriez?  That  I  was  the  partisan  of 
royalists  and  royalty?  Bring  proofs.  Bring  hither  those 
who  accuse  me,  and  I  will  trample  them  into  dust.  Vile 


D  ANTON.  283 

impostors,  stand  forth ;  let  me  pluck  away  the  mask  which 
hides  you  from  public  vengeance  !  " 

Again  he  was  interrupted  by  the  court,  and  went  on  more 
calmly,  "  I  have  things  to  reveal ;  I  demand  to  be  heard  in 
silence.  The  safety  of  the  country  may  depend  on  what 
I  say." 

This  was  too  much.  Herman  had  no  intention  of  letting 
him  proceed  on  this  line  of  defense.  He  rang  his  bell  vio- 
lently. "  A  man  speaking  to  defend  his  life  cares  nothing 
for  your  ringing,"  cried  Danton,  and  continued. 

The  jury  then  proceeded  to  interrupt  him  by  all  kinds  of 
questions.  To  speak  with  his  accustomed  eloquence  was 
impossible.  While  Danton  was  thus  being  harassed  by 
the  jury,  Herman  and  Fouquier  were  exchanging  scraps  of 
paper.  These  scraps  were  afterwards  found  among  the 
documents  of  the  trial 

"  In  half  an  hour  I  shall  put  a  stop  to  Danton's  speaking," 
wrote  Herman  to  the  prosecutor. 

"  I  have  some  questions  to  ask  the  court  concerning 
affairs  in  Belgium !  "  cried  the  accused. 

"  They  are  not  now  in  order,"  was  the  reply.  "  We  must 
get  on  faster." 

And  get  on  they  did.  Here  is  the  newspaper  report  of  the 
proceedings.  "  Danton  spoke  for  some  time  with  the  energy 
and  vehemence  he  has  so  often  displayed  in  the  Convention. 
...  As  he  reviewed  the  accusations  personal  to  himself,  he 
had  great  difficulty  in  suppressing  his  passion.  His  voice 
grew  hoarse.  It  was  evident  that  he  needed  rest.  Seeing 
this,  his  judges  proposed  to  him  to  suspend  his  review  of 
the  accusations  brought  against  him,  that  he  might  answer 
them  with  more  calmness  and  effect.  Danton  accepted  the 
suggestion." 

Danton  being  thus  silenced,  the  trial  of  his  friends 
proceeded. 

He'rault  de  Se'chelles  defended  himself  with  energy,  Ca- 
mille  Desmoulins  with  less  spirit.  Lacroix,  when  interrupted 
by  Herman,  cried,  "  Is  this  trial  only  a  farce,  that  I  am  not 
allowed  liberty  of  speech  ?  " 


284  THE  FKEXCff  REVOLUTION- 

Fouquier  here  interposed,  "  It  is  time  to  put  an  end  to 
all  this.  I  shall  write  to  the  Convention  and  ask  for  orders. 
They  will  be  followed  exactly." 

Philippeaux,  who  was  about  to  enter  on  his  defense,  here 
said,  "  You  may  condemn  me  to  death,  —  I  submit.  But  I 
forbid  you  to  insult  me." 

The  next  day  another  prisoner,  Lhuillier,  ex-procureur 
general,  was  arrested  and  brought  in. 

Westermann,  when  his  turn  came,  said,  "  I  have  received 
seven  wounds,  all  of  them  in  front.  The  only  one  I  ever 
had  in  the  back  is  this  acte  (f  accusation  " 

The  men  tried  for  dishonorable  money  dealings  were  not 
interrupted  in  their  defense,  which  could  not  injure  men  in 
power. 

Danton  and  his  friends  eagerly  demanded  that  the  court 
should  hear  their  witnesses.  Herman,  who  had  no  intention 
that  they  should  be  heard,  was  anxiously  expecting  an  order 
to  that  effect  from  the  Convention.  At  last,  at  four  o'clock, 
he  was  called  out.  He  found  two  members  of  the  Com- 
mittee of  General  Safety  awaiting  him.  "  Here  is  what  you 
asked  for,"  said  one  of  them,  presenting  a  paper.  "  Now 
you  can  go  on  quite  at  your,  ease,"  said  the  other.  "  I  can 
tell  you  we  had  need  of  this,"  answered  Herman,  with 
a  laugh.  He  returned  to  the  court,  and  with  an  air  of 
great  satisfaction  read  a  decree,  by  which  "  any  one  accused 
of  conspiracy  who  shall  resist  or  insult  judges  appointed  by 
the  nation,  shall  be  at  once  stopped  and  shall  not  be  allowed 
to  speak  further." 

On  the  reading  of  this  document  a  great  tumult  ensued, 
and  in  the  midst  of  the  confusion  the  court  was  adjourned. 

The  next  day,  the  i6th  Germinal,  Herman  refused  to  allow 
Danton  and  his  friends  to  bring  forward  their  witnesses. 
Danton  and  Lacroix  protested.  The  judge  answered  that  it 
was  useless,  for  he  had  more  numerous  witnesses  at  hand 
who  could  contradict  their  testimony  ;  he  had  not  summoned 
them, 'he  said,  because  he  wished  strictly  to  obey  the  orders 
of  the  Convention  ;  and  when  Danton  and  Lacroix  insisted, 
he  pointed  out  that  a  decree  of  the  convention  permitted 


D  ANTON.  285 

a  jury  after  three  days  to  cut  short  a  trial,  if  they  declared 
themselves  satisfied. 

The  trial  being  thus  stopped,  and  the  accused  taken  back 
to  prison,  Herman  and  Fouquier  went  into  the  jury-room 
and  told  the  jury  that  they  must  now  end  the  trial  by  declar- 
ing themselves  satisfied.  The  jury  obeyed. 

They  returned  to  the  court- room.  Each  juror  was  asked 
the  usual  question,  only  on  this  occasion  the  question  as- 
sumed the  form  of  an  announcement,  as  thus :  — 

"  There  has  existed  a  conspiracy  intended  to  restore  mon- 
archy in  France,  to  destroy  the  national  representation  and 
the  republican  form  of  government.  Citizen-juror,  is  Lacroix 
guilty  of  having  taken  part  in  this  conspiracy?"  And  so  on 
for  Danton,  Camille  Desmoulins,  Philippeaux,  He'rault  de 
Sechelles,  and  Westermann. 

For  the  others  the  formula  was  different :  "  There  has 
existed  a  conspiracy  tending  to  defame  and  dishonor  the 
national  representation,  and  to  destroy  republican  govern- 
ment by  corruption." 

All  were  pronounced  guilty,  except  Lhuillier. 

Public  interest  was  now  concentrated  on  Danton  and  his 
friends.  He'rault  de  Sechelles,  who  had  said,  when  their 
defense  was  stopped,  "  These  proceedings  do  not  surprise 
me.  They  are  worthy  of  those  who  are  thirsting  for  our 
blood,"  received  his  sentence  with  the  words,  "  What  I 
expected ! " 

Poor  Camille  Desmoulins,  who  had  been  employing  his 
solitary  hours  in  prison  by  writing  a  long  and  piteous  letter 
to  his  wife,  could  not  receive  sentence  of  death  with  equal 
calmness.  "  Oh,  the  monsters  !  the  villains  !  "  he  cried, 
"  and  to  think  that  I  should  have  been  the  dupe  of  Robes- 
pierre ! " 

"  My  friend,"  said  He'rault,  "  let  us  show  them  how  to 
die." 

Philippeaux  had  one  moment  of  weakness,  but  he  soon 
recovered  himself.  Lacroix  and  Westermann  were  calm  and 
said  nothing.  As  to  Danton,  he  did  not  bemoan  himself 
like  Camille  Desmoulins,  but  he  could  not  restrain  his  feel- 


286  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

ings.  He  foamed  with  rage.  He  uttered  the  most  dread- 
ful curses  against  his  murderers.  His  words  came  so  fast 
that  they  were  hardly  intelligible.  A  few  were  afterwards 
remembered  by  those  who  heard  them  :  — 

"  I  have  at  least  the  consolation  of  believing  that  the 
man  who  dies  as  chief  of  the  faction  des  indulge/its  will  be 
pardoned  by  posterity." 

"  What  matters  my  death  ?  I  have  gloried  in  the  Revo- 
lution ;  I  have  spent  much  ;  I  have  had  many  a  revel  in 
my  day.  Now  we  '11  go  to  sleep." 

The  carts  were  waiting  in  the  courtyard  of  the  Concier- 
gerie.  The  condemned  were  at  once  placed  in  them. 
Danton  had  recovered  his  self-possession,  and  even  his 
gayety.  He  tried  to  console  Philippeaux,  who  was  utterly 
cast  down  at  the  thought  of  his  poor  wife  and  child.  He 
joked  Fabre  d'£glantine,  who  seemed  wrapped  in  sadness, 
and  he  expressed  great  pity  for  poor  Camille,  who  tried  to 
cry  out  to  the  crowd  as  the  cart  passed  them  :  "  People  !  oh, 
people  !  you  are  deceived  by  those  who  govern  you !  " 

Danton  endeavored  to  silence  him,  saying,  "  Be  quiet  ! 
Have  nothing  to  say  to  that  vile  canaille  ! " 

Then  he  asked  the  executioner  if  he  might  be  allowed  to 
sing.  Sanson  replied  that  singing  was  not  forbidden. 

"Then  try  to  remember  some  lines  I  have  just  been 
making,"  Danton  said,  and  he  sang,  — 

"  Nous  sommes  menes  au  trepas 
Par  quantite  cle  scelerats  ; 

C'est  ce  qui  nous  desole. 
Mais  bientot  le  moment  viendra 
Oil  chacun  d'eux  y  passera ; 

C'est  ce  qui  nous  console." 

When  they  reached  the  Place  de  la  Resolution  the  carts 
stopped.  Herault  de  .Se'chelles  got  down  first ;  before 
mounting  the  steps  of  the  scaffold  he  wanted  to  embrace 
Danton,  but  the  executioner's  men  prevented  this  and 
dragged  him  away. 

"  Wretches  !  "  cried  Danton,  "  would  you  like  to  prevent 
our  lips  from  meeting  in  the  panier  ?  " 


D  ANTON.  287 

Camilla  Desmoulins  continued  his  laments  till  death  had 
silenced  them. 

Danton,  too,  though  he  showed  no  lack  of  courage,  had  a 
moment  of  tender  recollection.  "  Oh,  my  poor  wife,"  he 
cried,  "  my  beloved  wife  !  shall  I  never  see  you  again  ?  " 

Then  recovering  himself,  he  murmured  quickly,  "  Come, 
Danton,  no  weakness  !  " 

He  mounted  the  steps  of  the  scaffold,  and  turning  to  the 
executioner  said:  "Thou  must  show  my  head  to  the  people. 
It  is  a  sight  worth  seeing." 

The  execution  was  soon  over,  and  various  were  the  im- 
pressions it  made  on  the  spectators.  Amidst  a  confusion 
of  shouts  and  cries,  many  asked  each  other  and  them- 
selves if  this  execution  of  men  who  had  been  republican 
leaders  from  the  beginning  was  just  —  or  even  necessary. 
Already  might  be  seen  the  first  germs  of  the  tendency  to 
that  reaction  which  in  less  than  four  months  was  to  sweep 
Robespierre  and  his  accomplices  to  the  same  scaffold.  As 
Danton  had  said,  he  dragged  them  all  down  with  him  in  his 
fall. 

Certain  lines  which  were  secretly  circulated  in  Paris 
reflected  this  opinion. 

"  Camille  Desmoulins,  D'Eglantine,  and  Danton 
Together  reached  the  stream  of  Phlegethon. 
They  paid  their  passage  to  the  other  side 
To  Charon,  honest  ferryman,  who  cried, 
'  Yqu  've  given  me  too  much  ;  't  is  double  pay. 
Here,  take  your  change ! '  — '  Nay,'  answered  Danton,  '  nay  ; 
We  've  paid  for  six ;  three  more  will  soon  appear  : 
Couthon,  Saint-Just,  and  —  hark  ye  !  —  Robespierre.'  " 

It  had  been  the  fashion  to  speak  of  Danton  as  a  man 
steeped  in  debauchery,  and  in  truth  some  of  his  last  words, 
spoken  under  the  excitement  of  his^  sentence,  tend  to  sup- 
port that  conclusion.  The  truth  seems  to  be  that  there 
were  two  men  in  Danton.  In  that  age,  when  all  was  contra- 
diction, this  was  not  uncommon.  One  Danton  was  the 
man  who  loved  his  wife  with  passion  ;  the  other  the  Dan- 
ton,  who  breaking  away  from  his  home  could  throw  off  all 


288  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

restraints  in  the  Palais  Royal,  and  "  se  fairs  lien  caresser 
des  filter 

When  Danton  first  came  to  Paris  in  the  early  days  of  the 
Revolution,  he  met  his  first  wife,  the  daughter  of  a  lemonade- 
seller  on  the  Pont  Neuf.  She  was  very  beautiful,  a  tender, 
loving  woman  of  the  domestic  type,  and  an  earnest  Chris- 
tian. She  it  was  wjio  in  the  early  days  of  their  marriage 
worked  to  support  the  household.  She  was  the  mother  of 
two  children.  Danton  had  no  success  in  Paris  as  a  lawyer ; 
he  pleaded  but  one  cause,  that  of  the  nation.  But  those 
were  happy  days.  Husband  and  wife  were  all  in  all  to  each 
other.  Madame  Danton  was  grave  and  gentle,  Danton  as 
vehement  in  his  gayety  as  he  was  in  his  passions.  She  was 
so  full  of  piety  and  grace  that  it  seemed  as  if  some  rays 
from  her  heart  lit  up  the  atheism  professed  by  her  husband. 

When  Danton  left  the  tribune  he  came  back  to  love  and 
piety  at  home ;  Marat  and  Robespierre  found  nothing  in 
that  asylum  to  call  off  their  thoughts  from  their  enemies. 
They  carried  their  work  of  politics  to  their  hearths,  to  their 
beds,  nay,  even,  into  their  very  bath-tubs.  But  the  loving, 
pious  nature  of  Madame  Danton  could  not  long  stand  the 
terrible  strain  of  the  Revolution.  She  sickened  and  died  of 
fear  and  horror.  After  the  days  of  September  she  felt  that  the 
ship  was  running  on  a  reef  and  must  soon  go  to  pieces.  Her 
own  hopes  were  anchored  in  heaven.  Perhaps  she  thought 
that  when  she  reached  it  she  might  plead  for  Danton. 

As  she  grew  ill  her  husband  was  in  despair.  He  quitted 
her  bedside  only  to  do  his  duty  in  the  Convention.  It  was 
the  year  '93.  His  impatience  under  sorrow  added  to  his 
vehemence  in  the  tribune,  and  perhaps  to  his  pitilessness 
against  those  he  held  to  be  his  country's  enemies. 

Ere  she  died,  the  wise  and  loving  woman,  knowing  the 
nature  of  her  husband,»spoke  to  him  of  the  necessity  of  a 
second  marriage.  She  even  pointed  out  to  him  the  young 
girl  who  she  desired  might  be  a  mother  to  her  children. 
But  Danton  vehemently  rejected  the  idea.  "  Must  my 
children  be  motherless,  then  ? "  said  the  dying  woman. 
Danton  watched  beside  her  corpse  till  she  was  buried. 


D  ANTON.  289 

"  We  shall  meet  —  shall  we  not  —  in  heaven  ?  "  were  almost 
her  last  words.  "  Oh,  yes,  we  shall  meet,"  replied  Danton, 
with  a  smile,  but  he  had  no  belief  in  any  hereafter. 

A  week  after  his  wife  was  buried  he,  in  a  savage  burst  of 
grief,  went  to  her  grave,  and  endeavored  to  dig  her  up,  that 
he  might  once  more  embrace  her.  He  fulfilled  her  wish 
about  a  second  marriage.  But  this  wife  also  died  within  the 
year,  heart-stricken  by  so  many  horrors. 

Then  he  married  a  third  time,  though  his  heart  was  in  the 
grave  with  his  first  wife,  —  his  first  love.  It  was  with  this 
newly  married  wife  that  he  retired  to  Arcis-sur-Aube,  whence 
he  was  summoned  to  Paris  to  meet  his  doom.  It  was  of 
this  poor  woman  he  was  thinking  in  his  last  moments,  when 
he  "  strengthened  up  his  courage  to  his  fate  "  with  the  words, 
"Danton!  no  weakness,"  and  mounted  the  steps  of  the 
scaffold. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE   FEAST  OF  THE   SUPREME   BEING. 

T^HIS  account  of  the  Fete  de  I'Etre  Supreme  is  by  Adolphe 
•*•  Adam,  the  well-known  French  musician  and  com- 
poser.1 He  tells  the  tale  as  it  was  told  to  him  by  Sarrette, 
the  musical  director  of  the  period,  the  founder  of  the  Paris 
Conservatoire. 

The  various  misfortunes  endured  by  France  in  1793  were 
surpassed  by  her  experiences  in  the  early  months  of  1 794. 
The  massacres  of  Lyons  and  of  Nantes  were  not  more 
horrible  than  those  of  Toulon,  Orange,  and  Marseilles.  At 
Orange  (a  place  of  small  importance)  and  its  neighborhood 
no  less  than  fifteen  thousand  persons  were  put  to  death  in 
two  months.  Cries  of  horror  and  remonstrance  rose  on  all 
sides,  and  reached  the  ears  of  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety,  which  answered  them  by  declaring  itself  satisfied  with 
the  conduct  of  Maignet,  the  commissioner  who  had  ordered 
these  horrible  butcheries  ;  and  the  Convention  indorsed  the 
approval  of  the  Committee. 

The  name  of  Lyons  was  suppressed  by  a  decree  ;  thence- 
forward it  was  to  be  called  La  Commune  Affranchie.  But 
Marseilles  fared  worse  :  a  decree  of  the  Convention  declared 
her  to  be  a  rebellious  city,  which  should  bear  no  name ;  a 
month  later,  however,  another  decree  permitted  her  to  give 
up  the  anonymous  and  be  Marseilles  once  more.  The  atro- 
cious folly  of  such  decrees  was  only  equalled  by  their  multi- 
plicity. One  day  the  Convention  recorded  its  approval  of 
an  order  of  a  commissioner  in  the  Department  of  Var,  com- 
manding all  the  masons  in  his  district  to  form  a  corps  for 

1  Translated  by  me,  and  published  in  "Littell's  Living  Age," 
Aug.  23,  1879.  —  E.  W.  L. 


FEAST  OF  THE  SUPREME  BEING.  29 1 

the  total  demolition  of  Toulon ;  the  next  day  it  approved 
another  instance  of  the  energetic  government  of  Maignet, 
who  had  burned  a  village  a  few  leagues  from  Carpentras 
because  a  tree  of  liberty  had  been  cut  down  during  the 
night.  The  villagers  all  perished  in  the  conflagration,  except 
a  few  who  were  shot  down  by  a  volunteer  company  stationed 
to  see  that  none  escaped.  Another  decree  forbade  French 
soldiers  to  give  quarter  to  any  Englishman  or  Hanoverian. 
It  is  needless  to  add  that  the  various  French  armies  gave 
no  heed  to  this  order. 

Those  who  read  of  such  atrocities  very  probably  imagine 
that  Paris  was  a  sad  and  silent  city  in  those  days.  On  the 
contrary,  if  despair  and  consternation  were  in  every  heart, 
men  took  great  pains  to  conceal  their  feelings.  Never  had 
the  theatres,  the  gambling-houses,  the  drinking-shops,  etc., 
been  better  patronized.  Sometimes  all  Paris  looked  like  an 
enormous  guinguette.  From  three  to  five  o'clock,  on  fete 
days,  tables  stood  spread  before  the  houses,  to  which  each 
family  or  lodger  brought  his  contribution.  A  coarse,  fierce, 
dirty  patriot  was  the  guest  most  welcomed  at  these  tables  ; 
for  every  citizen  who  had  any  property  left  was  anxious  to 
give  no  offense  to  any  man  who  might  denounce  him  in  his 
district,  since  a  reward  was  paid  to  all  informers  at  that 
period,  and  an  especial  decree  declared  the  property  of  any 
man  detained  in  prison  to  belong  of  right  to  the  indigent 
patriots  of  his  own  Section. 

There  were  plenty  of  Revolutionary  fetes  to  take  the  place 
of  the  old  Catholic  Church  holidays,  which  had  been  solemnly 
abolished  by  a  decree  of  the  Convention,  Nov.  10,  1793. 
The  goddess  of  Reason  had  been  enthroned,  and  the 
Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame  had  been  assigned  to  her ;  whilst 
the  other  churches  in  Paris  were  devoted  to  various  allegorical 
and  metaphorical  divinities,  —  as  Liberty,  Conjugal  Affection, 
etc.  On  the  day  of  the  installation  of  the  goddess  at  Notre 
Dame,  a  dancing-girl  from  the  Opera  was  elevated  on  the 
high  altar  as  her  representative.  Beside  her  stood  Laharpe, 
the  ex- Academician,  the  well-known  author  of  the  "Cours 
de  Litterature."  Holding  his  cap  of  liberty,  he  opened  his 


THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

address  by  denying  the  existence  of  a  God  ;  and  then,  bias 
pheming  our  divine  Saviour,  he  dared  Him  to  avenge  the 
insult  offered  to  Him  in  His  temple.  As  no  miracle  took 
place  in  answer  to  this  impious  challenge,  the  crowd  burst 
into  loud  laughter  and  shouts  of  joy.  The  nave  of  the 
church  was  then  turned  into  a  ball-room.  The  celebrated 
organist  Sejan  was  forced  to  play  on  the  great  organ  base 
dance-music  of  the  period,  while  whirling  wretches  danced 
the  carmagnole,  and  howled  the  air -of  "  Ca  ira; "  after  which 
they  broke  the  statues,  tore  the  eyes  out  of  the  pictures  of 
the  saints,  and  burned  everything  that  had  ever  borne  a 
part  in  the  worship  of  the  Almighty. 

On  the  2ist  of  January,  1794,  there  was  a  splendid  fete  in 
the  Place  de  la  Revolution.  It  was  the  anniversary  of  the 
day  on  which  fell  the  last  of  the  kings.  Singing  and  dancing 
round  the  guillotine  celebrated  the  occasion,  until  at  last, 
during  a  pause  in  the  general  mirth,  four  victims,  who  stood 
waiting  for  the  signal,  mounted  the  scaffold,  and  four  heads 
fell  under  the  fatal  axe  amidst  the  shouts  of  a  populace 
which  has  always  put  forth  a  claim  to  be  called  "  the  people." 
The  guillotine  in  those  days  was  the  favorite  symbol.  The 
costume  in  vogue  was  a  jacket  called  a  carmagnole,  trousers 
of  coarse  cloth,  the  neck  bare  or  tied  with  a  red  handker- 
chief, and  a  felt  cap,  with  a  long  queue.  Dandies  wore 
little  liberty-caps  in  their  button-holes,  little  gold  guillotines 
for  earrings  or  for  breastpins  (if  they  had  any  shirts  to  put 
them  in),  and  carried  stout  cudgels  in  their  hands.  At 
dinner-parties  little  mahogany  guillotines  were  used  as  table 
ornaments,  mahogany  being  at  tha-t  time  fashionable  and 
rare.  Women  wore  little  gold  guillotines  in  their  ears,  or 
as  finger-rings,  or  as  clasps  to  their  girdles  ;  whilst  all  the 
time  the  great  real  red  guillotine  continued  its  daily  labors, 
no  longer  picking  out  its  victims,  but  sweeping  them  in 
almost  without  inquiry.  At  first  wealth  and  high  birth  had 
been  men's  title  to  proscription ;  but  after  a  while  all  kinds 
of  offenses  against  civism  had  to  be  invented,  to  make  the 
number  of  the  executed  greater  day  by  day.  Those  guilty 
of  Girondism  and  conservatism  were  not  enough.  Success 


FEAST  OF  THE  SUPREME  BEING.  293 

in  business  soon  became  a  crime,  devotion  to  science  was  a 
ground  for  condemnation.  Malesherbes  perished  for  plead- 
ing the  cause  of  his  late  master ;  and  when  Lavoisier  re- 
quested two  weeks'  reprieve,  that  he  might  finish  the  solution 
of  certain  problems  that  would  be  of  use  to  science  and 
humanity,  Coffinhal,  the  President  of  the  Revolutionary  Tri- 
bunal, answered,  "  The  Republic  has  no  need  of  science  or 
of  chemistry." 

Still  the  guillotine  was  not  satisfied ;  all  the  blood  it  had 
shed  was,  so  to  speak,  of  the  same  color.  Robespierre 
found  means  to  satisfy  its  new  caprice  ;  those  who  had  fed 
it  hitherto  became  its  victims.  Rousin,  Hebert,  the  origi- 
nator of  the  Pere  Duchene,  Anacharsis  Clootz,  Chaumette, 
Vincent,  Danton,  Chabot,  Bazire,  Lacroix,  Camille  Desmou- 
lins,  and  others  soon  followed  in  the  steps  of  Malesherbes  ; 
Louis  XVI. 's  advocate  preceded  only  by  a  few  days  his 
client's  judges. 

Terror  was  at  its  height.  Those  who  still  managed  to 
escape  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal,  each  of  whose  arrests 
was  but  a  prelude  to  the  scaffold,  had  hard  work  to  keep 
themselves  from  want,  owing  to  the  vexatious  police  arrange- 
ments of  this  "  age  of  liberty."  No  man  could  buy  bread, 
meat,  wood,  candles,  or  soap  without  a  permit  from  the 
authorities  of  his  Section  ;  and  then  the  articles  could  not 
be  delivered  to  him  for  twenty-four  hours,  during  which 
time  the  authorities  were  verifying  his  reputation  for  good 
citizenship  and  ascertaining  that  no  denunciations  had  been 
lodged  against  him.  Such  universal  wretchedness  may  in 
part  account  for  the  mad  way  in  which  men  gave  themselves 
up  to  pleasure  in  days  when  no  one  knew  whether  he  should 
be  alive  upon  the  morrow. 

Nor  was  luxury  nor  a  taste  for  speculation  arrested  by 
a  sense  of  danger.  New  buildings  went  up  in  all  quarters  of 
the  city,  and  were  pushed  on  with  an  energy  that  showed 
how  little  time  their  owners  felt  that  they  might  have  to  live 
in  them.  Costly  furniture  was  purchased  for  these  new 
abodes  ;  for  the  danger  of  being  rich  did  not  seem  to  affect 
the  desire  for  riches. 


294  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

At  last,  indeed,  Paris  seemed  to  grow  weary  of  blood- 
shedding,  and  Robespierre  began  to  perceive  that  he  had 
better  apply  himself  to  calm  the  passions  of  the  populace, 
and  to  organize  some  reaction  to  the  agitations  and  emotions 
in  which  Paris  had  lived  for  upwards  of  a  year.  By  degrees 
he  had  got  rid  of  the  extremists  of  his  o.wn  party,  endeavor- 
ing to  throw  on  them  the  odium  of  acts  which  they  had  only 
helped  him  to  accomplish  ;  and  in  order  to  inaugurate  a  new 
era  of  moderation  and  of  brotherhood,  which  might  do  him 
honor,  he  began  by  proposing  to  the  Convention  a  sort  of 
return  to  a  system  of  worship ;  but  the  religion  which  he 
favored  was  of  a  new  kind. 

On  his  motion  the  Assembly  decreed  "  that  the  French 
people  recognizes  the  existence  of  a  Supreme  Being  and 
the  immortality  of  the  soul."  The  inscription  of  this  recog- 
nition on  the  dead  walls  of  Paris  did  not  seem  an  act  of 
solemnity  proportioned  to  its  importance.  It  was  resolved 
that  a  great  festival  should  be  held  in  honor  of  the  Supreme 
Being.  The  Committee  Of  Public  Safety  was  thereupon 
ordered  to  organize  the  festival.  History  must  not  forget 
that  upon  that  committee  there  were  men  who  occupied 
themselves  solely  with  their  own  especial  duties ;  Carnot, 
for  example,  who  superintended  the  wars  of  the  Republic, 
directing  fourteen  armies  from  his  cabinet,  sending  plans  to 
his  various  generals,  and  planning  the  combination  of  their 
forces ;  while  Lindet  only  concerned  himself  with  the  quar- 
termaster's department,  Prieur  with  the  ordnance,  and 
Barrere  undertook  matters  relating  to  the  fine  arts. 

Barrere  sent  at  once  for  those  who  generally  undertook 
the  arrangement  of  the  fetes  of  the  Republic.  The  leader 
of  them  all  was  David  the  painter,  the  friend  and  the  crea- 
ture of  Robespierre,  —  he  who  the  night  before  his  patron's 
fall  exclaimed,  "  If  you  drink  poison  I  shall  drink  it  too, 
and  die  another  Socrates."  Happily  only  one  Socrates 
perished  on  this  occasion,  and  David  survived  his  first 
patron,  as  he  was  to  survive  his  next,  —  Napoleon,  whose 
coronation  and  second  marriage  live  for  us  in  his  work  as 
vividly  as  if  we  had  seen  them. 


FEAST  OF  THE  SUPREME  BEING.  295 

Barrere  had  a  personal  fancy  for  the  poet  Joseph  Chenier, 
whose  moderate  opinions  seemed  to  point  him  out  as  the 
proper  poet  to  be  intrusted  with  the  composition  of  a  semi- 
religious  hymn,  which  was  to  be  a  feature  in  the  solemnity. 
Gossec,  who  was  of  advanced  Revolutionary  opinions,  was 
chosen  to  compose  the  music.  Gossec  was  then  sixty-one 
years  old,  and  was  less  celebrated  for  his  operas  than  for  his 
symphonies,  which  had  paved  the  way  for  those  of  Haydn. 
Among  his  religious  works  was  the  celebrated  Mass  for  the 
Dead,  which  was  considered  his  finest  composition. 

The  fete  was  fixed  for  the  2Oth  Prairial  (June  8),  and  all 
the  preparations  were  accomplished.  The  costumes  had 
been  designed  and  finished,  the  hymn  was  written,  the  music 
for  it  composed^  everything  was  ready.  The  only  difficulty 
was  that  Sarrette,  who  always  had  had  the  direction  of  the 
music  in  the  festivals  of  the  Republic,  was  in  prison.  He 
had  been  there  for  two  months,  and  nothing  could  be  done 
without  him.  Before  telling  the  reader  how  this  misfortune 
befell  Sarrette,  —  though,  indeed*  such  misfortunes  happened 
for  no  reason  at  all  in  those  days,  —  we  may  as  well  explain 
by  what  concatenation  of  circumstances  he  had  been  brought 
to  take  so  active  a  part  in  the  Republic's  festive  celebrations. 
To  do  so  we  must  go  back  a  few  years. 

Before  the  Revolution  the  musical  organization  of  France 
was  entirely  religious.  There  were  no  singing-schools  but 
those  attached  to  the  chapter  in  every  cathedral.  There 
young  boys  were  brought  up  for  the  Church,  but  generally, 
if  they  proved  to  have  good  voices,  they  deserted  to  the  the- 
atre. There  was  no  musical  instruction  open  to  female 
pupils,  except  that  of  the  opera-house,  where  a  very  few 
were  received.  Singing  had  not  yet  become  an  art  to  be 
cultivated.  All  that  was  necessary  to  please  the  public  was 
a  loud  voice  with  considerable  compass.  A  full-voiced 
singer  was  sure  to  succeed.  « 

At  the  small  school  attached  to  the  Italian  opera-house  in 
those  days  there  was  some  good  instruction,  but  the  masters 
were  all  Italians,  and  the  school  was  not  open  to  the  public. 
Orchestras  picked  up  recruits  wherever  they  could  find  them. 


296  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

There  was  tolerable  violin  instruction  to  be  had  in  France, 
but  the  wind  instruments  were  all  played  by  Germans.  The 
Mare'chal  de  Biron,  however,  had  established  in  Paris  what 
was  called  the  Ddpot  of  the  Gardes  Franchises,  to  train 
musicians  for  the  various  military  bands  in  the  country ;  so 
that  thenceforward  the  theatres  drew  their  performers  from 
two  sources,  their  singers  from  the  church,  and  their  orches- 
tras from  the  army. 

When  the  Gardes  Frangaises  were  suppressed  in  1789, 
M.  Sarrette,  then  captain  on  the  staff  of  the  National  Guard 
of  his  Section,  obtained  an  order  to  continue  the  musical 
school  for  the  benefit  of  the  National  Guard.  After  a  while 
the  National  Guard  was  suppressed,  and  then  Sarrette,  fear- 
ing lest  all  the  musical  ability  of  France  wcMild  be  forced  to 
abandon  the  country,  persuaded  the  Commune  to  open  a 
free  school  for  music,  the  members  of  which,  whether  pupils 
or  instructors,  were  obliged  to  lend  their  services  at  all 
national  festivals. 

This  school  was  placed  under  the  charge  of*  Gossec  and 
Sarrette,  and  started  in  the  Rue  St.  Joseph.  It  took  the 
title  of  Musical  Corps  of  the  National  Guard,  —  though  that 
guard  had  been  abolished.  It  was  the  source  from  which 
all  the  fourteen  armies  of  the  Republic  drew  their  bands. 

This  school  was  the  germ  of  the  present  Paris  Conserva- 
tory. Its  musicians  formed  the  orchestra  of  the  Republic. 
They  took  part  in  all  national  festivities,  and  some  of  them 
played  daily  before  the  legislature.  Indeed,  music  was  fre- 
quently called  upon  to  make  a  sort  of  interlude  in  the  sittings 
of  the  Convention.  Sarrette,  by  his  co-operation  in  all  the 
national  fetes  of  the  Republic,  flattered  himself  that  his 
civism  would  be  above  suspicion,  and  lived  in  happy  security 
till  he  was  one  day  suddenly  arrested  on  the  denunciation  of 
a  humble  inhabitant  of  the  Quartier  Montmartre. 

Tl*is  good  man,  wishing  to  get  rid  of  the  inconvenient 
practicing  of  a  band  of  wind  instruments  in  his  neighbor- 
hood, bethought  him  of  declaring  to  the  authorities  that  he 
had  heard  the  proscribed  air  "Vive  Henri  IV."  played  by 
one  of  the  clarionets.  By  the  ingenious  device  of  denoun- 


FEAST  OF  THE  SUPREME  BEING.  297 

cing  the  director  he  hoped  to  break  up  the  school.  Really 
and  truly  his  shaft  ought  to  have  struck  Gossec,  but  its 
victim  was  his  co-director. 

For  nearly  three  months  poor  Sarrette  remained  an  inmate 
of  the  prison  of  Ste.  Pdagie,  expecting  every  day  to  be  called 
before  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal,  which  of  course  meant 
sentence  and  execution.  At  last  the  governor  of  the  prison 
sent  for  him.  "  Citizen  Sarrette,"  he  said,  "  the  Republic 
needs  thee.  Thou  art  to  leave  this  place,  but  a  soldier  will 
not  lose  sight  of  thee  till  thou  hast  fulfilled  the  duty  that 
the  country  has  assigned  thee.  I  do  not  say  farewell,  there- 
fore, but  au  revoir." 

Sarrette  would  have  preferred  a  more  definite  dismissal ; 
but  he  had  to  accept  things  as  he  found  them,  and  in  com- 
pany with  his  guard,  who  stuck  to  him  like  his  shadow,  he 
went  back  to  his  old  school-room. 

It  was  with  considerable  emotion  that  he  saw  the  place 
once  more,  —  the  school  he  had  created,  —  for  whose  future 
he  had  dreamed  what  seemed  now  impossible  things.  The 
cry  of  joy  with  which  his  concierge  greeted  him  hardly  raised 
his  spirits.  The  concierge  had  been  an  old  sergeant  in  the 
Swiss  guard ;  he  had  escaped  the  massacre,  and  Sarrette 
had  protected  him  and  provided  for  him.  Fortunately  this 
old  soldier  found  an  acquaintance  in  the  sentry  who  accom- 
panied his  benefactor.  He  easily  persuaded  him  that  he 
would  pass  his  time  more  pleasantly  drinking  a  few  glasses 
in  his  loge  than  going  upstairs  with  his  prisoner  to  his  cham- 
ber, especially  as  he  could  assure  him  that  the  only  possible 
way  that  any  one  could  get  out  of  the  house  was  to  pass  by 
the  place  where  they  would  be  both  sitting. 

Sarrette,  on  entering  his  own  rooms,  found  Gossec  and 
Che'nier  already  in  possession.  They  told  him  they  had 
got  him  out  of  prison  in  order  that  he  should  superintend 
the  production  of  a  hymn  they  had  composed  together ; 
that  this  would  bring  him  into  communication  with  the 
authorities,  and,  that  being  the  case,  they  thought  it  might 
lead  to  his  complete  liberation. 

A  little  hope  was  beginning  to  dawn  on  the  unfortunate 


298  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

prisoner  when  his  sentry  came  up  to  say  that  he  was 
wanted  by  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety.  No  one  could 
think  without  fear  of  that  terrible  tribunal,  and  Sarrette's 
reception,  when  he  appeared  before  it,  was  by  no  means 
reassuring. 

"  Citizen,"  said  Robespierre,  who  was  in  the  chair,  "  in 
three  days  there  will  be  a.ftte  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries 
and  in  the  Champ  de  Mars,  at  which  will  be  produced  a 
hymn  in  honor  of  the  Supreme  Being,  now  solemnly  recog- 
nized by  the  French  Republic.  Have  you  prepared  any- 
thing suitable  for  such  a  fete  ?  " 

"  Citizen,"  replied  Sarrette,  "  here  is  a  hymn,  both  words 
and  music  composed  expressly  for  this  occasion."  So  say- 
ing, he  handed  the  chairman  a  manuscript  that  he  held  in 
his  hand. 

Robespierre  cast  a  careless  glance  upon  the  poetry,  but 
when  he  got  to  the  last  verse  and  saw  the  name  of  its  author, 
his  sinister  eyes  gave  a  sudden  glare. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  this?"  he  cried,  striking  his  fist 
on  the  table  before  him.  "This  man  is  a  Girondin  —  a 
Bressotin  —  a  friend  of  Condorcet,  —  Chenier  himself!  Has 
he  been  chosen  to  celebrate  one  of  the  great  acts  of  the 
Republic?  What  aristocrat  has  dared  to  intrust  this  work 
to  him?" 

And  with  these  words  he  glanced  round  the  group  before 
him.  Carnot  was  writing.  Lindet  and  Prieur  were  looking 
over  some  marginal  notes  upon  their  papers.  Couthon, 
Saint-Just,  Billaud-Varennes,  and  Collot  d'Herbois  looked  as 
angry  as  their  leader.  Barrere,  having  anticipated  a  storm, 
had  slipped  out  of  a  side  door  as  soon  as  he  saw  Sarrette 
put  the  paper  into  the  hand  of  Robespierre. 

"  Citizen,"  said  Sarrette,  quietly,  pointing  to  the  soldier  at 
his  side,  "  you  may  see  by  the  company  I  am  forced  to  keep 
that  I  have  not  been  my  own  master  for  some  time.  I  have 
had  no  chance  to  choose  or  to  employ  anybody.  When  I 
reached  my  own  rooms  this  morning  I  found  this  poetry 
and  this  music  waiting  for  me.  All  I  have  done  is  to  bring 
them  here  for  your  approval." 


FEAST  OF  THE  SUPREME  BEING.  299 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  "  asked  Robespierre. 

"  From  Ste.  Pelagic.     I  have  been  there  three  months." 

"  What  are  you  accused  of?  " 

"  I  am  not  accused  of  anything.  The  accusation  is 
against  the  air  '  Vive  Henri  IV.'  It  had  the  bad  taste  to 
let  itself  be  played  by  somebody,  I  never  knew  by  whom, 
in  the  municipal  musical  school-room.  That  is  the  reason 
I  have  been  in  prison  three  months." 

Robespierre  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  thought  a  mo- 
ment, then  he  said,  — 

"See  here,  you  say  you  did  not  choose  the  author  of 
these  verses.  I  am  willing  to  believe  you,  but  you  have  got 
to  choose  me  another  author.  You  must  bring  me  a  new 
hymn  for  my  approval,  and  the  third  day  from  now  it  must 
be  publicly  performed." 

"  But,  citizen,  how  can  I  in  two  days  get  the  words  written 
and  the  music  composed,  and  the  whole  copied?  I  shall 
hardly  have  time  to  get  my  choirs  together." 

"Your  choirs?  What  do  I  want  with  a  choir?  I  don't 
want  a  lot  of  you  paid  bawlers  at  twelve  francs  a  head, 
which  is  what  you  have  been  hitherto  charging  the  Republic 
at  all  her  ceremonies.  I  don't  want  any  choir,  —  under- 
stand? Singers,  indeed!  Aristocrats,  artists,  appendages 
to  ancient  royalty,  fellows  who  sing  for  money,  and  for 
whoever  will  give  it  to  them  !  It 's  the  people  —  the  whole 
people  —  who  shall  sing  this  hymn,  and  sing  it  for  nothing. 
There  shall  be  sixty  thousand  voices  —  a  hundred  thousand 
voices  —  two  hundred  thousand  in  the  choir  this  time. 
That 's  my  notion  of  music.  And  that 's  what  I  expect  of 
you,  citizen  ! " 

Sarrette  looked  utterly  confounded. 

"  Well !  "  said  Robespierre,  "  what  are  you  standing  here 
for?  Make  haste,  and  get  everything  ready;  and  remember 
one  thing :  you  are  let  out  of  prison  that  a  hymn  to  the 
Supreme  Being  may  be  sung ;  and  you  will  go  back  to 
where  you  came  from,  if  the  hymn  is  not  sung  according 
to  my  idea  of  it.  Now  go." 

There  was  no  option.     Sarrette   now  perceived  that  he 


300  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

would  be  pardoned  if  the  piece  could  be  written,  learned, 
and  executed  in  rather  more  than  forty-eight  hours.  But  the 
thing  was  impossible.  Another  thing  too  troubled  him  ;  he 
had  been  hourly  expecting  his  own  death  for  three  months, 
but  he  now  saw  that  there  was  no  escape  for  Che'nier.  In 
vain  he  turned  over  in  his  own  mind  how  he  could  save  him. 

As  he  entered  his  own  house  his  good  concierge  stopped 
him  on  the  stairs. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  said  (he  dared  whisper  "  Monsieur " 
when  nobody  was  by),  "  here  is  a  paper  some  one  has  left 
for  you  ;  he  said  it  was  something  very  important." 

"Who  brought  it?" 

"  A  little  humpbacked  man,  who  would  not  tell  me  his 
name.  He  said  he  would  call  to-morrow  for  an  answer." 

Sarrette  took  the  paper,  but  felt  no  interest  in  it,  and  did 
not  open  it.  Sadly  and  slowly  he  mounted  to  his  chamber. 

"  Che'nier,"  he  said  on  entering,  "  you  are  done  for,  my 
poor  friend.  Robespierre  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  your 
hymn,  for  no  other  reason  than  because  you  wrote  it  and 
because  he  hates  your  principles.  You  must  try  to  make 
your  escape  ;  your  death  is  certainly  resolved  on." 

"  Escape  !  escape?"  cried  Che'nier.     "  How  can  I?" 

"  There  is  one  chance  for  you,"  said  Sarrette,  eagerly ; 
"  hide  yourself  here.  No  one  saw  you  come  in  but  the  con- 
cierge, and,  as  you  well  know,  he  may  be  trusted.  Our 
pupils  never  come  into  this  part  of  the  building.  No  one 
will  suspect  you  of  seeking  refuge  in  a  place  belonging  to 
the  government.  So  I  must  trust,  my  good  fellow,  you  may 
be  luckier  than  I,  and  avoid  making  acquaintance  with 
Ste.  Pelagic.  I  am  going  back  there." 

"  Going  back !  "  cried  Gossec  and  Che'nier  together. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Sarrette,  sadly.  "  I  was  only  to  be 
set  free  if  the  Hymn  to  the  Supreme  Being  was  duly  sung  ; 
and  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  to  get  it  rewritten,  recom- 
posed,  and  rehearsed  in  two  days  is  simply  impossible." 

So  saying,  Sarrette  flung  himself  into  a  chair,  and  the 
paper  he  was  holding  dropped  from  his  fingers.  Gossec 
picked  it  up. 


FEAST  OF  THE  SUPREME  BEING.  301 

"  What 's  this?"  he  said  to  Sarrette. 

"I  don't  know.  Open  it;  it  is  probably  something  about 
the  school." 

All  of  a  sudden  Gossec's  face  became  radiant.  He  sprang 
from  his  seat  with  a  cry  of  joy.  "  Oh,  friends  !  "  he  shouted 
eagerly,  "  we  are  saved  !  we  are  saved  !  " 

"  How  saved?" 

"  My  music !  you,  Sarrette  !  you,  Chenier  !  The  Etre 
Supreme  I  the  Republic !  everybody  !  See  here  !  "  He 
waved  the  paper  in  the  air  and  read  the  following  letter : 

"  CITIZEN, —  I  hear  there  is  to  be  a  great  fete  given  in  recog- 
nition of  the  Supreme  Being,  and  I  send  you  some  verses  I  have 
made  for  the  occasion.  I  should  be  delighted  to  think  that  they 
were  thought  worthy  of  adoption.  I  will  call  to-morrow  to  learn 
their  fate. 

"  And  by  an  especial  providence,  by  the  favor  of  the 
Supreme  Being  himself,  the  poem  is  in  the  same  metre  as 
Chdnier's,  and  the  stanzas  are  the  same  length;  he  has 
used  some  of  the  very  same  words.  It  can  be  set  to  the 
same  music  without  an  alteration.  Come,  my  good  fellows ! 
Cheer  up,  Sarrette  !  "  went  on  Gossec.  "  Get  your  choirs 
together,  give  out  the  parts,  begin  to  make  the  arrange- 
ments ;  we  '11  get  it  sung." 

"  Choirs !  "  cried  Sarrette.  "  There  are  not  to  be  any 
choirs.  The  whole  population  of  Paris  is  to  sing." 

"  The  people  ? "  cried  Gossec,  in  despair.  "  Why,  the 
people  can't  learn  parts." 

"  There  are  not  to  be  any  parts." 

"What?     Are  they  all  to  sing  together?" 

"  That 's  the  idea." 

"  It  is  not  my  idea.  I  won't  have  my  music  sung  in  that 
way  ;  I  'd  rather  tear  it  up  than  hear  it  murdered." 

"  All  right,  then,"  said  Sarrette,  "  if  you  'd  rather  see  me 
guillotined.  I  thought  you  might  be  willing  to  sacrifice  your 
music  to  save  the  life  of  an  old  friend." 

Though  Gossec  was  sixty-one,  he  was  as  impetuous  as  a 
lad  of  eighteen.  He  saw  at  once  the  absurdity  of  his  enthu- 


302  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

siasm  for  his  own  composition.  He  flung  his  arms  round 
Sarrette. 

"  Ah,  my  good  friend  ! "  he  cried,  "  I  '11  let  them  sing  it  all 
together ;  they  may  sing  it  in  every  key  at  once,  and  as  out  of 
tune  as  they  will.  I  forgot  your  life  hung  on  the  performance 
of  my  music.  Let  us  see  ;  what  must  be  first  done  ?  " 

"  We  must  get  together  every  musician  we  know,"  said 
Sarrette,  "  and  set  them  to  work.  I  '11  explain  what  they 
have  to  do  when  you  get  them  here." 

Gossec  set  out  at  all  speed.  An  hour  after  he  came  back, 
and  with  him  Me'hul,  Gre'try,  Cherubini,  and  a  dozen  others, 
the  musicians  and  composers  of  the  period.  All  welcomed 
Sarrette  and  fell  into  his  views  with  enthusiasm.  He  ex- 
plained in  a  few  words  what  must  be  done  immediately.  All 
the  Sections  were  to  be  convoked,  and  before  each  was  to 
appear  a  musician,  either  playing  on  some  instrument  him- 
self or  with  a  pupil  to  play  for  him,  to  teach  the  people  the 
hymn  to  be  sung  by  the  united  voices  of  all  Paris  on  the  day 
after  the  morrow.  Each  promised  to  do  his  best  for  the 
Hymn  to  the  Supreme  Being.  Sarrette  himself  set  off  for 
the  committee,  which  was  still  in  session.  The  words  were 
approved  with  enthusiasm,  and  the  Sections  brought  together 
by  sound  of  drum.  That  evening  and  all  the  next  day  Paris 
became  a  singing-school.  Cherubini  stood  on  a  balcony 
overlooking  an  open  square,  the  CarreTour  Gaillon  :  a  pupil, 
armed  with  a  clarionet,  played  Gossec's  melody.  Cherubini 
sang  the  words  in  his  vile  Italian  accent,  and  then,  gesticu- 
lating and  grimacing  like  a  man  possessed,  shaking  his  fists 
and  menacing  his  pupils  when  they  sang  false  notes,  he 
proceeded  to  instruct  the  crowd  before  him.  Mehul  took 
another  quarter,  and  accompanied  himself  on  a  violin. 
Four  other  composers  of  the  same  stamp  conducted  similar 
classes.  Plantade  and  Richer,  being  singers  by  profession, 
gave  their  instruction  with  less  trouble  to  themselves,  and 
theirs  were  the  most  popular  classes.  By  the  next  evening 
the  "  Father  of  Nature "  might  be  heard  sung,  growled, 
howled,  or  hummed  all  over  Paris,  in  every  quarter,  every 
street,  and  every  dwelling. 


FEAST  OF  THE  SUPREME  BEING.  303 

In  the  course  of  the  same  day  Sarrette  was  informed  that 
the  citizen  Desorgues  wished  to  speak  to  him.  He  was  so 
overwhelmed  with  public  business  that  he  was  on  the  point 
of  declining  to  receive  any  visitor ;  but  this  one  entreated  so 
earnestly  for  admission  that  he  was  let  in.  He  was  a  small, 
shabby,  deformed  rnan,  timid  and  insinuating  in  manner. 

"  Citizen,"  he  said,  "  you  cannot  guess  the  reason  of  my 
coming." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Sarrette,  "  I  think  I  can.  You  left  a 
manuscript  for  me  last  evening.  You  have  come  to  ask 
what  decision  I  have  arrived  at  respecting  your  poem." 

"  No,"  replied  the  little  man,  "  quite  the  contrary." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  give  me  back  my  manuscript 
and  to  forget  it  was  ever  sent  you." 

"  But  why?  "  asked  Sarrette,  completely  puzzled. 

Timidly  the  old  man  proceeded  to  explain. 

"I  am,"  he  said,  "or  rather  I  was  once,  the  Chevalier 
Desorgues.  Notwithstanding  some  former  successes  in 
society,"  here  a  grin  of  self-complacency  accompanied  his 
words,  "  notwithstanding  my  illustrious  name  and  noble 
family,  I  have,  for  the  last  four  years,  been  only  too  happy  to 
live  forgotten  and  unknown.  All  my  friends  and  associates 
who  did  not  emigrate  in  the  beginning  have,  one  by  one, 
been  suspected,  arrested,  and  guillotined.  I  am  the  last 
remnant  of  the  little  colony  we  formed  before  the  year  '92, 
in  the  Rue  St.  Florentin.  I  am  the  only  one  who  remains 
to  be  summoned  before  that  monster  of  bloodthirstiness, 
that  terrible  tiger  —  Ah !  pardon  me ;  perhaps  you  are  a 
friend  of  M.  Robespierre?  — 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  Sarrette,  with  a  smile. 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  his  visitor,  "  I  live  in  fear  of 
drawing  his  notice  on  myself.  I  dare  not  even  change  my 
lodgings.  Being  the  last  noble,  the  last  aristocrat  living  in 
our  street,  all  eyes  would  be  upon  me.  It  occurred  to  me, 
however,  that  some  brilliant  act  of  civism  might  place 
me  above  suspicion.  But  the  only  acceptable  acts  of  civism 
nowadays  appear  to  be  the  denunciation  of  other  people. 


304  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

Yesterday  it  struck  me  that  if  I  could  write  the  Hymn  to  the 
Supreme  Being,  which  I  could  do  without  violating  the 
principles  I  have  always  professed,  I  might  acquire  such  a 
reputation  as  a  good  republican  that  I  might  move  in  safety 
from  the  Rue  St.  Florentin.  But  last  night  I  remembered 
that,  on  the  contrary,  I  might  only  draw  suspicion  on  myself, 
inquiries  might  be  made  into  my  past  history ;  and  I  have 
come  to  you  to  ask  you  to  give  me  back  my  hymn  and  the 
letter  I  wrote  you  yesterday." 

"  I  am  sorry,  my  dear  chevalier,  but  I  carried  your  hymn 
yesterday  to  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety,  and  M. 
Robespierre,  as  you  call  him,  was  delighted  with  it." 

"  What !    did  the  monster  think  my  verses  good?  "" 

"  Excellent,  sublime  ;  and  he  intends  they  shall  be  sung 
to-morrow  —  the  zoth  Prairial  —  by  the  whole  population 
of  Paris.  Why,  how  happens  it  that  you  have  not  heard 
your  own  words  sung  everywhere  since  last  evening  ?  " 

"  Monsieur,  for  months  past  I  have  scarcely  ever  been 
out  of  my  own  doors  — " 

"  Let  me  advise  you  to  change  your  mind.  Go  to  the 
fete.  Let  Robespierre  see  you  and  know  you.  His 
countenance  may  be  your  protection,  should  you  incur 
any  danger." 

" Then  you  do  not  think  he  aims  at  my  destruction?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  do  not  believe  that  he  has  ever  given 
you  a  thought,  and  he  will  be  quite  disposed  to  patronize 
the  bard  of  the  Supreme  Being,  whose  high  pontiff  he  has 
constituted  himself." 

By  six  in  the  morning  an  immense  crowd  took  possession 
of  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries,  which  had  been  closed  for 
some  days  in  order  that  David  might  complete  his  prepara- 
tions. An  immense  scaffolding,  with  ascending  rows  of 
seats,  was  set  up  against  the  principal  pavilion  of  the  palace, 
where  the  Convention  then  held  its  sittings.  All  the 
deputies  were  seated  on  these  benches.  Before  them  was 
an  altar  or  antique  tripod,  like  those  used  in  incantation 
scenes  at  the  Opera.  Two  stuffed  figures,  draped  after  the 
Greek  fashion,  one  called  Atheism,  the  other  Fanaticism, 


FEAST  OF  THE  SUPREME  BEING.  305 

lay  at  its  foot.  Behind  the  altar  was  an  immense  chair,  very 
much  after  the  pattern  of  a  throne,  intended  for  the  high 
priest  on  the  occasion.  That  high  priest  was  none  other 
than  Robespierre;  but  his  friend  David  could  not  succeed 
in  persuading  him  to  adopt  a  costume  in  harmony  with  the 
ancient  Greek  character  which  he  gave  to  the  rest  of  his 
preparations. 

Robespierre  wore  his  hair  powdered.  His  white  muslin 
cravat  was  very  carefully  adjusted  ;  his  shirt  and  his  marseilles 
waistcoat  were  of  irreproachable  whiteness ;  a  bright  blue 
coat,  knee  breeches,  white  silk  stockings,  and  shoes  with 
large  gold  buckles  completed  his  costume,  which  had  no 
connection  with  mythology.  He  stepped  to  the  front  of  the 
platform,  and,  after  a  few  airs,  played  by  the  Orchestra  of 
the  Republic,  to  which  was  assigned  a  place  behind  the 
members  of  the  Convention,  he  delivered  a  long  metaphysi- 
cal discourse,  which  nobody  understood,  but  every  one 
applauded.1  Then,  whilst  a  hundred  thousand  voices  sang 
the  Hymn  to  the  Supreme  Being,  he  gave  a  signal  with  a 
large  bouquet  he  held  in  his  hand.  The  two  stuffed  figures 
were  set  on  fire.  When  they  were  consumed,  their  ashes 
were  scattered  to  the  winds,  after  which  an  immense  antique 
chariot,  laden  with  allegorical  personages,  clad  in  Greek 
costumes,  headed  a  procession  which  directed  its  course 
toward  the  Champ  de  Mars,  where  the  same  ceremonies 
were  to  be  repeated.  The  altar  was  carried  in  the  pro- 
cession by  ballet  girls  from  the  opera,  dressed  in  white 
tunics  like  those  of  the  priests  of  Jupiter.  Bundles  of  rods 
and  ensigns  were  borne  before  the  altar  which  needed  only 
the  letters  S.  P.  Q.  R.  to  be  complete  imitations  of  Roman 
standards.  The  grand  pontiff  and  the  members  of  the 
Convention  joined  in  the  march,  followed  by  the  orchestra 

1  Carlyle  says  of  Robespierre's  orations  at  the  Jacobins  :  "  What 
spirit  of  Patriotism  dwelt  in  men  in  those  times,  this  one  fact  it  seems 
to  us  will  evince  :  that  fifteen  hundred  human  creatures,  not  bound 
to  it,  sat  quietly  under  the  oratory  of  Robespierre ;  nay,  listened  to  it 
nightly  hour  after  hour  applausive ;  and  gaped  as  for  the  word 
of  life." 

20 


306  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

and  the  populace.  The  same  proceedings  were  gone  through 
with  on  the  Champ  de  Mars,  and  Sarrette,  at  the  head  of  his 
musicians,  was  just  making  ready  to  go  home  after  all  was 
over,  when  an  uproar  in  the  crowd  attracted  his  attention. 

He  saw  Gossec,  who  had  just  been  recognized  by  the 
mob,  borne  in  triumph  on  men's  shouWers.  Gossec,  not 
liking  the  absurdity  of  being  alone  in  his  glory  in  so  elevated 
a  position,  had  pointed  out  to  his  admirers  his  fellow-laborer, 
the  humpbacked  chevalier,  whom  he  perceived  in  the 
throng.  Instantly  a  thousand  stout,  rough  men  pressed 
forward  and  raised  the  poet  to  the  side  of  the  composer. 
Their  absurd  appearance  in  this  triumphal  procession,  their 
anxious  faces,  as  they  looked  at  each  other  with  disquiet 
and  astonishment,  were  beyond  description. 

They  were  set  at  liberty  at  last,  after  having  been  borne 
round  the  Champ  de  Mars,  and  the  fete  terminated  by  the 
mob's  singing  and  dancing  the  carmagnole  round  the  Altar 
of  Reason. 

Robespierre  was  enchanted.  Everything  had  gone  off  to 
his  entire  satisfaction.  Sarrette  obtained  full  pardon,  and 
was  delivered  from  the  company  of  his  sentry,  who,  but  for 
his  fraternization  with  an  old  comrade  in  the  porter's  lodge, 
would  have  been  intolerable.  But  though  delivered  from 
personal  anxiety  he  continued  to  be  very  apprehensive  as 
to  the  fate  of  Chenier. 

A  poet  is  a  poet  wherever  fate  may  place  him.  In  the 
tedium  of  his  captivity  in  the  rooms  of  Sarrette,  Chenier 
wrote  the  "  Chant  du  De'part,"  one  of  the  noblest  odes  in 
the  French  language.  Mdhul,  who  knew  his  friend's  hiding- 
place,  carne  often  to  visit  him,  full  of  enthusiasm  for  those 
noble  lines  which  Chdnier  read  to  him.  He  completed  the 
work  by  setting  them  to  music  worthy  of  the  words. 

Charmed  with  this  noble  work  conceived  and  executed 
almost  under  his  own  eyes,  Sarrette  resolved  on  the  first 
suitable  occasion  to  bring  it  before  the  public.  That  op- 
portunity soon  arrived  ;  the  double  victory  won  by  the 
French  at  Fleurus  was  to  be  made  the  occasion  of  a  national 
festivity. 


FEAST  OF  THE  SUPREME  BEING.  307 

Sarrette  ventured  to  present  Ch£nier's  military  poem  to 
the  Committee  of  Public  Safety  as  the  work  of  a  poet  who 
desired  to  remain  unknown.  "Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Robespierre, 
"  this  poem  is  worthy  of  the  Republic.  It  is  worth  all  the 
verses  ever  written  by  that  vile  Girondin  Chenier  !  " 

He  ordered  that  the  piece  should  be  sent  at  once  to  the 
fourteen  armies  of  the  Republic,  and  that  it  should  be  called 
"  Le  Chant  du  Depart."  He  did  better  still :  this  time  he 
let  Sarrette  engage  a  choir,  which  cost  more  than  a  popula- 
tion which  sang  for  nothing;  however,  the  choir  sang  the 
best,  and  gave  the  song  in  parts,  which  was  much  more 
satisfactory  to  the  composer  than  the  popular  method. 

The  anonymous  words  and  Me'hul's  music  had  immense 
success.  But  the  dangerous  mystification  of  which  the 
Committee  of  Public  Safety  had  been  the  victim  might  any 
day  be  brought  to  light,  and  this  possibility  gave  Sarrette 
many  anxieties.  Happily,  not  long  after,  his  fears  were  put 
an  end  to  by  the  Ninth  Thermidor ;  and  Chenier,  after  the 
death  of  Robespierre,  put  his  name  to  the  poem. 

The  Feast  of  the  Supreme  Being  was  never  again  cele- 
brated. A  year  later,  on  the  recommendation  of  Lajuinais, 
public  worship  was  again  permitted.  The  "  Chant  du  De'part  " 
long  continued  to  share  with  the  "  Marseillaise  "  the  privilege 
of  exciting  the  ardor  of  the  French  armies  ;  and  if  it  never 
attained  the  popularity  of  the  hymn  of  Rouget  de  Lisle,  it 
has  at  least  the  advantage  of  never  having  served  as  a  rally- 
ing cry  for  hordes  of  ferocious  insurrectionists. 

Che'nier  not  long  after  had  the  pleasure  of  gratifying 
Sarrette  by  getting  the  legislature  of  the  period,  of  which  he 
had  become  a  member,  to  vote  for  the  organization  of  the 
Conservatory  of  Paris,  on  the  basis  of  a  report  which  his 
friend  had  furnished  him. 

Sarrette  survived  all  other  actors  in  these  scenes.  He 
witnessed  the  prosperity  of  the  Conservatory  which  he  had 
established,  and  he  beheld  the  restoration  of  a  French 
republic  in  1848.  It  may  be  that  he  found  music  less 
encouraged  under  the  republic  of  Lamartine  than  under 
the  republic  of  Robespierre. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    FALL  OF   ROBESPIERRE. 

"D  OBESPIERRE,  when  his  two  chief  competitors  for 
-*-^-  popularity  and  power,  Jean  Paul  Marat  and  Jacques 
Danton,  had  been  removed  out  of  his  way  (Marat  on  July  13, 
1793,  Danton  on  April  5,  1794),  began  to  feel  the  necessity 
for  applying  the  brakes  to  the  on-rushing  course  of  the 
Revolution.  We  have  seen  how  he  planned  to  make  peace 
with  Austria,  and  to  enlarge  the  borders  of  French  territory 
by  the  acquisition  of  the  Low  Countries  and  the  frontier  of 
the  Rhine.  He  also  firmly  rebuked  the  insolent  attitude 
taken  by  Citizen  Genet,  the  Girondist  ambassador,  toward 
the  Government  of  the  United  States ;  and  we  have  wit- 
nessed his  semi-comic  appearance  before  all  Paris  as  high 
pontiff  of  a  revived  worship  of  the  Supreme  Being. 

He  was  a  man  of  theories,  and  when  he  held  a  theory  he 
was  ready  at  all  sacrifices  and  at  all  risks  to  carry  it  out  to 
the  bitter  end.  His  theory  of  government  was  that  France 
under  a  republic  must  be  great,  happy,  and  glorious,  and 
that  he  was  the  only  man  who  had  the  will,  if  he  could  only 
obtain  the  power,  to  make  her  so  ;  granted  that  France 
would  be  the  better  if  all  her  inhabitants  were  good  patri- 
ots,—  then,  exterminate  all  who  were  not  good  patriots 
and  good  republicans ! 

Such  had  been  his  view  of  affair?,.  But  the  responsibilities 
of  power  had  inspired  him  with  disgust  and  aversion  for  the 
most  part  of  his  colleagues.  A  man  of  pure  morals  himself, 
he  grew  shocked  at  the  wickedness,  the  greed,  and  the 
frenzied  folly  of  his  coadjutors.  One  by  one  he  was  bent 
on  their  destruction  ;  France  should  be  great  and  happy 
when,  by  and  by,  he  should  rule  alone. 


ROBESPIERRE. 


THE  FALL   OF  ROBESPIERRE.  309 

During  the  year  1 793  the  mania  for  change  extended  to 
everything,  —  to  times  and  seasons,  weights  and  measures, 
and  geographical  divisions.  The  four  weeks  from  July  19 
to  August  1 7,  inclusive,  became  Thermidor,  and  1 794  the 
year  II.  of  the  Republic.  We  have  seen  how  Mr.  Gouverneur 
Morris,  the  American  ambassador,  and  Mr.  Thomas  W.  Grif- 
fith dated  their  letters  according  to  the  Revolutionary  cal- 
endar. It  might  have  cost  any  man  his  head  to  write 
July  or  January. 

In  Thermidor,  therefore,  of  the  year  II.  of  the  Republic,  the 
destinies  of  France  seemed  all  in  the  hands  of  Maximilien 
Robespierre.  He  had  been  a  man  of  mark  only  two  or  three 
years ;  before  that  time  no  one  would  have  dreamed  of  pre- 
dicting for  him  an  important  place  in  history. 

In  Thermidor  of  the  year  II.1  Robespierre  was  thirty-five 
years  of  age.  He  was  rather  short ;  his  face  was  sallow  and 
bilious ;  the  English  Carlyle  calls  him,  in  allusion  to  his 
complexion  and  his  honesty,  "  the  Sea-green  Incorruptible." 
His  eyes  were  without  sparkle,  almost  without  expression. 
His  voice  was  sharp  and  thin.  But  though  he  was  certainly 
not  handsome,  he  took  pains  to  be  well  dressed,  and  was  the 
only  one  of  the  Revolutionary  leaders  who  could  have  been 
called  neat,  or  even  clean. 

He  was  proud  and  ambitious.  Believing  in  the  subtle 
power  of  oratory,  he  was  determined  to  become  a  great 
speaker.  But  with  all  his  indefatigable  perseverance,  he 
never  became  an  eloquent  man.  Nor  was  he  a  man  of 
action ;  personal  bravery  was  not  in  his  line. 

He  lived  very  modestly.  In  July,  1791,  he  left  the  lodg- 
ings in  the  Rue  de  Saintonge  in  the  Marais,  Where  he  had 
lived  with  his  sister,  and  accepted  the  hospitality  of  Duplay, 
an  upholsterer,  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore. 

Duplay  was  not  a  journeyman,  but  a  master- work  man, 
who  owned  about  fifteen  thousand  francs  in  the  funds. 
Robespierre  had  a  little  bedroom  in  his  house,  with  a  vvin- 

1  From  the  "  Supplement  Litteraire  du  Figaro,"  July  28,  1894,  the 
anniversary  of  Robespierre's  death. 


310  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

dow  looking  down  on  the  workshops,  or  sheds,  in  which  a 
good  many  workmen  were  employed. 

He  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  Duplay's  eldest  daugh- 
ter, Eleonore,  a  tall  woman  with  marked  features.  But 
their  love-making  was  very  calm,  and  they  waited  patiently 
for  quiet  days  in  which  they  might  begin  their  married  life 
together. 

Robespierre's  only  passion  was  for  power,  and  he  had 
showed  much  skill  in  getting  rid  of  a  multitude  of  those  who 
stood  in  the  way  of  his  attaining  it,  —  Girondists,  Hebertists, 
and  Dantonists.  In  Thermidor  of  the  year  II.  (July,  1794) 
he  seemed  to  have  realized  his  dreams.  The  Convention 
obeyed  him  through  fear ;  the  Commune  supported  him  from 
conviction.  But  in  the  Convention  he  had  enemies.  That 
great  crowd  of  deputies,  then  sitting  in  the  Tuileries,  con- 
tained a  group  of  Montagnards  (Men  of  the  Mountain)  who 
were  growing  impatient  of  the  yoke  of  Robespierre.  Their 
leaders  were  Billaud-Varennes,  Collot  d'Herbois,  Barras, 
Fouche,  Tallien,  Fre"ron,  Lecointre,  and  others.  They  felt 
themselves  in  danger  from  Robespierre,  whom  they  called 
"  the  tyrant,"  and  made  ready  for  a  coming  struggle. 

Robespierre  was  riot  averse  to  it ;  he  hoped  to  rid  himself 
by  a  supreme  effort  from  these  last  opponents.  He  trusted 
to  the  Commune  (the  city  government  at  the  H&tel  de  Ville), 
which  could  be  acted  on  by  Lescot-Fleuriot,  Mayor  of  Paris, 
and  Payan,  the  National  Commissioner  ;  and  to  the  Revolu- 
tionary Tribunal,  whose  President  and  Vice-President,  Damas 
and  Coffinhal,  were  his  warm  adherents. 

As  to  the  Convention,  he  doubted  not  he  could  check- 
mate it,  thanks  to  his  friends  Saint-Just,  Couthon,  and  Lebas, 
aided  by  his  own  eloquence.  The  chances  of  a  struggle  be- 
tween the  Convention  and  the  Commune  seemed  to  him  all  in 
his  favor.  He  judged  the  time  propitious  for  the  fight,  and  he 
prepared  to  crush  all  attempts  to  revolt  against  his  authority. 

On  the  8th  Thermidor  the  Convention,  presided  over  by 
Collot  d'Herbois,  was  in  session.  Robespierre,  who  had  not 
attended  its  sittings  for  some  time,  mounted  the  tribune 
and  prepared  to  speak. 


THE   FALL    OF  ROBESPIERRE.  3 1 1 

He  read  a  long  speech,  according  to  his  custom,  the 
manuscript  of  which,  full  of  erasures  and  interlineations,  was 
found  among  his  papers.  It  was  evidently  a  paper  that  had 
been  carefully  prepared,  defending  his  own  virtue,  patriotism, 
and  devotion  to  the  public  good  ;  and  he  threatened  his 
opponents  in  advance,  depicting  them  as  enemies  to  their 
country  and  the  Revolution.  It  was  the  same  course  that 
he  had  pursued  successfully  several  times  before. 

He  complained  that  he  was  calumniated.  "  They  call  me 
'  a  tyrant,'  "  he  cried.  "  If  I  were  a  tyrant,  they  would  be 
crawling  at  my  feet."  He  declaimed  against  the  Committee 
of  Public  Safety  and  against  other  committees,  especially  that 
of  finance.  He  complained  of  the  superabundance  of  inter- 
est felt  by  the  public  in  military  matters,  and  he  cried,  <;  Un- 
less you  keep  a  tight  grasp  on  the  reins  of  the  Revolution, 
you  may  soon  see  a  military  despotism  establish  itself,  and 
some  leader  of  the  factions  overthrow  your  representative 
assembly !  " 

He  ended  by  denouncing  fresh  conspiracies  against  pub- 
lic liberty,  and  cried  that  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety 
ought  to  be  purged,  and  be  then  set  to  work  to  exterminate 
traitors. 

All  this  shows  plainly  what  was  his  object.  Indeed,  one 
of  his  creatures,  a  member  of  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal, 
had  said  a  day  or  two  before  in  the  hearing  of  the  Conven- 
tion, though  he  was  in  the  next  chamber,  "  The  Revolu- 
tionary Tribunal  is  awaiting  some  twenty  deputies ;  the 
bomb  is  ready  to  explode." 

Yet  Robespierre's  authority  was  still  so  great  that  his 
speech  was  loudly  applauded-  Lecointre  demanded  that 
it  should  be  printed.  Another  deputy  objected  that  the 
Assembly  was  moving  too  fast,  and  proposed  to  submit  the 
speech  to  the  decision  of  the  two  committees.  Barrere,  not 
certain  how  the  affair  might  terminate,  approved  the  print- 
ing of  the  speech,  but  very  vaguely. 

The  debate  continued  long.  It  involved  the  death  or  life 
of  many  of  the  speakers.  When  at  5  P.M.  the  session  closed, 
the  question  whether  Robespierre's  speech  should  be  printed 


312  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

at  the  public  expense  was  still  undecided.  Yet  in  one  point 
of  view  the  session  had  been  of  supreme  importance ;  for 
Robespierre  for  the  first  time  had  met  with  opposition.  He 
left  the  Assembly  astonished  and  furiously  angry.  The  wish 
of  effacing  the  check  he  had  received  led  him  to  attend  the 
Jacobin  Club  in  the  evening.  There  he  was  sure  to  be 
supreme,  secure  of  being  applauded.  He  re-read  his  speech, 
which  his  hearers  received  with  acclamations.  In  order  to 
excite  greater  enthusiasm  for  himself  personally,  he  affected 
to  consider  himself  a  victim.  "This  speech  that  you  have 
heard,"  he  said,  "is  my  last  will  and  testament.  I  have 
seen  my  fate  to-day ;  the  league  formed  by  the  wicked  is 
so  strong  that  I  cannot  hope  to  escape.  I  fall  without 
regret.  I  leave  you  my  memory ;  let  it  be  dear  to  you ; 
may  you  defend  it ! " 

He  said  something  about "  drinking  hemlock."  David,  the 
painter,  exclaimed,  "  I  will  drink  it  with  you  ! "  Couthon 
then  proposed  the  expulsion  of  all  deputies  from  the  club 
who  had  opposed  the  printing  of  Robespierre's  speech. 
This  proposal  was  carried  by  acclamation.  Billaud-Varennes 
and  Collot  d'Herbois,  who  were  present,  were  hustled  out 
of  the  Jacobin  Hall  with  hootings  and  even  violence. 

Leaving  Robespierre  at  the  club  to  enjoy  his  triumph, 
Billaud  and  Collot  went  at  once  to  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety,  which  then  met  under  the  same  roof  as  the  Con- 
vention, at  the  Tuileries.  There,  sitting  at  the  great  oval 
table  covered  with  green  cloth,  they  found  Carnot  and 
Saint-Just,  both  busy  with  their  papers.  Saint-Just  passed 
each  sheet,  when  he  had  written  it,  to  his  secretary. 

Billaud  and  Collot,  excited  by  the  scene  at  the  Jacobins', 
at  once  set  on  Saint-Just,  as  the  friend  of  Robespierre,  and 
reproached  him  with  the  conduct  of  his  party. 

"You  are  writing  denunciations  against  us  at  this  very 
moment ! "  they  cried,  endeavoring  to  get  possession  of  his 
papers. 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  said  Saint-Just,  with  an  air  of  mockery. 
Then,  turning  to  Carnot,  he  said,  "  Possibly  I  am  making 
out  yours,  too." 


THE  FALL    OF  ROBESPIERRE.  313 

Carnot  looked  up  quietly.  "  If  that  is  so,"  he  said,  "  what 
we  shall  have  to  do  is  to  shoulder  our  muskets."  With  that 
he  went  on  writing. 

Billaud  and  Collot  were  not  so  calm.  They  became 
violent.  They  even  declared  that  they  would  lock  up  Saint- 
Just,  and  keep  guard  over  him  till  morning.  Saint-Just  to 
appease  them  had  to  promise  that  he  would  submit  his 
report  to  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety  before  he  gave  it 
in  to  the  Convention.  It  was  a  promise  he  did  not  intend 
to  keep.  He  was  nowhere  to  be  found  the  next  morning, 
and  up  to  eleven  o'clock  the  Committee  waited  for  him  in 
vain. 

Meantime  the  deputies  in  the  Convention  who  had 
attacked  Robespierre  were  making  preparations  for  the 
next  day's  struggle.  They  needed  the  support  of  the  more 
moderate  members  of  the  Assembly,  whom  Robespierre  had, 
to  a  certain  extent,  protected ;  but  they  won  them  over 
to  their  support. 

Robespierre  had  set  spies  for  some  time  past  over  the 
doings  of  certain  deputies  whom  he  believed  to  be  his 
enemies,  but  he  was,  nevertheless,  in  complete  ignorance  of 
these  proceedings.  He  took  a  walk  in  the  Champs  Elyse'es 
with  Ele'onore  Duplay,  to  whom  he  was  engaged  to  be 
married,  accompanied  by  his  great  Danish  dog  Brount. 

Eleonore  was  depressed  and  uneasy,  and  kept  nervously 
caressing  the  dog.  Robespierre  pointed  out  to  her  the  setting 
sun,  which  was  going  down  into  the  purple  west. 

"  Ah !  it  will  be  fine  weather  to-morrow  !  "  she  cried,  and 
the  omen  seemed  to  reassure  her. 

They  returned  to  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  and  sat  down  to 
supper.  The  walk  had  probably  calmed  the  first  emotions 
of  painful  surprise  felt  by  Robespierre  in  the  Convention, 
for  he  was  now  serene. 

"  I  expect  nothing  from  the  Men  of  the  Mountain,"  he 
said,  "  they  want  to  get  rid  of  me,  and  they  say  I  am  a 
tyrant,  but  the  great  body  of  the  Assembly  will  support  me." 

He  slept  that  night  confident  of  success,  and  the  next 
morning,  —  the  gth  Thermidor,  —  when  he  left  the  hospit- 


3  1 4  THE  FRENCH  RE  VOL  UTION. 

able  house  of  the  Duplays,  his  last  words  were :  "  The 
majority  in  the  Assembly  is  pure.  Be  easy.  I  have  nothing 
to  fear." 

Thus  began  the  celebrated  pth  Thermidor,  —  July  27, 
1794.  The  weather  was  oppressively  hot.  The  Conven- 
tion had  met  early.  All  felt  it  was  a  decisive  day.  Both 
parties  counted  on  the  support  of  the  moderate  men  in  the 
Assembly.  Saint-Just,  a  friend  of  Robespierre,  spoke  first, 
but  his  speech  was  vague  and  hesitating.  He  was  inter- 
rupted before  he  had  gone  far  by  Tallien,  and  by  Billaud- 
Varennes ;  both  of  them  were  men  stained  with  the  worst 
crimes  of  the  Revolution,  but  they  were  now  enemies  to 
Robespierre,  whom  Billaud-Varennes  attacked  violently, 
accusing  him  of  not  having  been  willing  to  prosecute  men 
who  had  been  denounced  as  enemies  of  the  Republic  to  the 
Committee ! 

Robespierre  tried  to  answer  him,  but  was  silenced  by 
howls  of  "  Down  with  the  tyrant !  " 

"  I  have  seen  the  formation  of  the  army  of  a  new  Crom- 
well," cried  Tallien,  "  and  here  is  the  dagger  with  which  I 
intend  to  pierce  his  heart,  if  the  Convention  should  support 
him !  I  demand  that  the  Convention  shall  decree  his 
arrest.  I  demand  that  it  shall  remain  in  session  till  the 
steel  blade  of  the  law  shall  have  assured  the  Revolution, 
and  we  shall  have  got  rid  of  him  and  of  his  creatures  !  " 

These  two  propositions  were  adopted  amid  great  ap- 
plause ;  Billaud-Varennes  then  demanded  the  arrest  of  Damas, 
President  of  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal.  It  was  at  once 
decreed,  and  Damas  was  dragged  from  his  bench  to  prison. 

Robespierre  endeavored  to  speak.  "  Down  with  the 
tyrant !  "  cried  the  Assembly.  Barrere  and  Verdier  tried  to 
draw  off  the  attention  of  the  Convention  to  other  topics,  but 
Tallien  brought  back  the  Assembly  to  the  point  in  question. 
There  was  great  confusion  among  the  deputies.  The  accu- 
sation against  Robespierre  was,  not  that  he  had  guillotined 
innocent  moderates  or  royalists,  but  that  he  had  caused  the 
arrest  of  advanced  revolutionists.  One  man  cried  out : 
"  The  blood  of  Danton  suffocates  him  ! "  At  these  words 


THE  FALL   OF  ROBESPIERRE.  315 

Robespierre  grew  pale.  "  It  is  then  Danton  whom  you 
are  seeking  to  avenge  ?  "  he  said. 

As  the  decree  of  arrest  was  pronounced,  Robespierre's 
brother  sprang  to  his  feet,  crying  :  "  I  am  as  much  guilty  as 
my  brother.  I  share  his  virtues.  I  ask  for  a  decree  of 
arrest  for  myself — " 

But  in  the  general  confusion  little  notice  was  taken  of  this 
courageous  act  of  fraternal  devotion. 

In  vain  Robespierre  tried  to  speak.  He  uttered  only 
disjointed  reproaches  and  abuse  of  those  attacking  him. 
He  had  no  skill  in  self-defence.  They  accused  him  of 
having  blamed  the  Revolutionary  government  for  its  destruc- 
tion of  the  churches,  and  their  desecration.  At  this  there 
was  a  cry  of  "  Let  him  be  arrested  at  once  ! " 

The  decree  of  arrest  was  passed  amid  shouts  of :  "  Vive 
la  Liberte"  !  Vive  la  Republique  ! " 

"  The  Republic  ?  "  cried  Robespierre.  "  The  Republic  is 
lost,  for  brigands  triumph  !  "  No  attention  was  paid  to  him. 
The  decree  of  arrest  joined  with  him  his  brother,  Saint-Just, 
and  Couthon.  Lebas  cried  out  that  such  a  decree  was  an  out- 
rage, and  demanded  that  his  own  name  should  be  included. 
This  was  done  accordingly.  Fr£ron,  one  of  the  most  san- 
guinary and  infamous  of  the  Revolutionists,  led  the  attack, 
and  declared  that  Robespierre,  Saint-Just,  and  Couthon  had 
plotted  to  form  a  triumvirate.  "  Couthon,"  he  cried,  "  has 
aspired  to  mount  a  throne !  "  "  Oh  !  of  course,"  said  Cou- 
thon, ironically,  pointing  to  his  disabled  legs,  useless  from 
paralysis,  on  which  he  was  unable  to  stand  alone. 

It  was  five  o'clock ;  the  session  closed,  and  gendarmes 
carried  off  the  accused  to  prison. 

The  Commune,  the  municipal  government  of  Paris,  sitting 
at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  was  faithful  to  Robespierre.  The 
mayor  ordered  the  tocsin  to  sound  to  rouse  the  Sections  ; 
he  had  the  barriers  of  the  city  closed,  and  proclaimed  Paris 
in  revolt  against  the  scoundrels  of  the  Convention.  But  his 
measures  were  paralyzed  by  the  fact  that  Henriot  was  in 
command  of  the  troops,  —  Henriot,  the  lowest,  meanest 
of  all  the  Jacobins,  a  man  who  had  denounced  his  own 


316  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

mother  to  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal,  that  he  might  rid 
himself  of  the  care  of  her.  He  was  drunk  that  day,  as  he 
usually  was.  On  receiving  orders  from  the  Commune  to 
call  out  the  Sections,  he  rushed  through  the  streets,  pistol 
in  hand,  yelling  to  the  people  to  take  up  arms.  Some  of 
those  who  heard  him  were  alarmed,  most  were  disgusted. 
As  he  passed  a  restaurant  where  a  deputy  was  dining  about 
six  o'clock,  the  deputy  saw  him  through  a  window,  and 
shouted  :  "  Arrest  that  man  !  His  arrest  has  been  decreed 
by  the  Assembly ! "  Instantly  six  gendarmes  who  were  in 
the  street  seized  Henriot  by  the  collar.  The  deputy  (Robin 
by  name)  had  him  carried  off  a  prisoner  to  the  Committee 
of  General  Security,  thence  to  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety.  Billaud-Varennes  and  Barrere  were  there,  but  they 
were  afraid  of  compromising  themselves  too  far  should 
Robespierre  and  his  party  prove  victorious.  Robin  was 
indignant  with  their  pusillanimity,  and  began  to  be  anxious 
to  get  rid  of  his  prisoner. 

Some  officers  of  the  Commune  at  that  moment  came  up 
and  rescued  Henriot  without  resistance,  he  being  all  the 
time  too  drunk  to  know  what  was  being  done  with  him. 

The  struggle  was  now  between  the  Commune  at  the 
Hotel  de  Ville  and  the  Convention  at  the  Tuileries. 

Robespierre  and  the  deputies  arrested  with  him  were 
sent  to  different  prisons,  —  Robespierre  to  the  Luxembourg, 
his  brother  to  St.  Lazare ;  Couthon,  Lebas,  and  Saint-Just 
to  other  places  of  captivity.  But  the  Commune  had  sent 
orders  that  no  prison  should  receive  them  ;  and  Saint-Just, 
Lebas,  and  the  younger  Robespierre  regained  their  liberty, 
but  not  Robespierre,  though  he  was  eagerly  expected  every 
moment  by  the  Committee  of  the  Commune  sitting  in  their 
council-chamber  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  At  the  gate  of  the 
Luxembourg  he  was  met  by  a  municipal  officer,  who  or- 
dered his  liberation,  and  took  him  and  his  captors  to  the 
Prefecture  of  Police,  where  the  actors  changed  places.  The 
captors  became  prisoners,  and  Robespierre  was  free. 

The  Council  of  the  Commune  sent  him  earnest  entreaties 
—  even  orders  —  to  join  them,  but  Robespierre  seems  to 


THE  FALL    OF  ROBESPIERRE.  317 

have  lost  courage.  All  he  would  do  was  to  send  advice  to 
the  Hotel  de  Ville.  The  Commune,  however,  insisted  on 
his  presence,  and  sent  a  deputation,  which  at  last  brought 
him.  His  arrival  gave  courage  to  his  friends.  Crowds  in 
the  street  filed  past  the  Hotel  de  Ville  swearing  fidelity  to 
the  Commune. 

Couthon  was  the  only  one  of  the  arrested  deputies  not 
present.  Robespierre,  his  brother,  and  Saint-Just  signed  an 
order  to  him  to  join  them. 

At  about  i  A.M.  on  the  loth  Thermidor  Couthon  arrived, 
and  they  all  began  to  deliberate  on  what  should  be  next 
done.  "  Draw  up  a  proclamation  to  the  armies,"  said 
Couthon. 

"In  whose  name?"  said  Robespierre,  whose  audacity 
seemed  to  have  forsaken  him. 

A  terrible  rain  was  falling,  which  greatly  damped  the 
ardor  of  the  crowd  in  the  streets.  A  proclamation  was 
drawn  up  addressed  to  one  of  the  Sections  called  the 
Section  of  Pikes,  calling  upon  it  to  rise  in  arms.  Three 
members  of  the  Council  of  the  Commune  had  signed  it, 
and  Robespierre  had  just  taken  the  pen  and  written  the  first 
two  letters  of  his  name,  when  soldiers  sent  by  the  Conven- 
tion burst  in.  The  Convention,  having  learned  what  was 
taking  place,  had  acted  at  once.  The  tipsy  Henriot  had 
been  able  to  take  no  military  precautions  to  protect  the 
Hotel  de  Ville  and  the  municipality. 

The  Convention,  when  it  learned  of  the  escape  of  Robes- 
pierre, Henriot,  and  the  other  prisoners,  was  at  first  in 
mortal  fear.  Deputies  talked  of  dying  at  their  posts,  and 
so  on.  But  danger  gives  courage.  Some  one  proposed 
that  Barras  should  be  their  leader,  —  the  Barras  who  was 
subsequently  the  patron  of  Napoleon.  Attended  by  twelve 
deputies  girt  with  their  scarfs  of  office,  Barras  assembled  a 
considerable  body  of  soldiers,  and  marched  on  the  Hotel  de 
Ville.  At  sight  of  the  soldiers  the  crowd,  already  dis- 
heartened, drenched  by  rain,  and  conscious  of  the  lateness 
of  the  hour,  dispersed  at  once.  Henriot,  arriving  before 
the  Hotel  de  Ville,  found  his  own  soldiers  of  the  Sections 


3l8  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

in  command  of  deputies  from  the  Convention.  He  rushed 
up  the  staircase,  crying,  "  All  is  lost !  "  The  pen  dropped 
from  the  hand  of  Robespierre. 

The  Commune  was  at  the  mercy  of  its  assailants ;  only, 
the  assailants  did  not  seem  to  assail.  They  were  bewildered 
by  their  own  success  ;  they  were  astonished  that  they  had 
met  no  opposition.  Many  were  afraid  that  preparations 
had  been  made  to  blow  up  the  building.  A  gendarme, 
however,  named  Meda,  braver  than  the  rest,  entered  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  and  made  his  way  to  the  council-chamber. 
Robespierre  was  sitting  at  a  table.  Meda  threatened  him 
with  a  pistol,  and  cried,  "  Yield,  traitor  !  " 

Robespierre  raised  his  head.  "  It  is  you  who  are  the 
traitor,"  he  said,  "  and  I  will  have  you  shot."  As  he  spoke, 
Meda  raised  a  pistol  in  his  left  hand,  fired,  and  broke  his 
jaw. 

Robespierre,  thus  wounded,  fell  forward  on  the  table, 
his  blood  staining  the  paper  on  which  he  had  been  about 
to  sign  his  name. 

Me"da,  after  his  shot,  turned  and  fled,  carrying  back  his 
news  to  those  commanding  the  armed  men  outside,  who  at 
once  entered  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  As  they  did  so  they  heard 
a  second  shot.  Lebas  had  killed  himself. 

These  shots,  the  cries  and  yells  that  rose,  led  to  a  general 
panic  among  Robespierre's  party.  The  younger  Robespierre, 
excited  and  terrified,  tried  to  escape  through  a  window.  He 
walked  a  few  steps  outside  on  the  cornice,  then  lost  his 
balance,  fell  on  the  pavement,  and  broke  his  legs. 

Couthon,  most  of  whose  body  was  paralyzed,  had  been 
wounded  in  the  head.  He  dragged  himself  into  a  cor- 
ner, where  he  lay  motionless,  counterfeiting  death.  Saint- 
Just  did  not  move.  He  quietly  awaited  his  doom.  Henriot, 
who,  by  his  drunkenness,  weakness,  and  stupidity,  had  been 
the  ruin  of  his  friends,  thought  only  of  saving  his  own  life. 
He  tried  to  flee  by  a  back-staircase,  but  one  of  Robespierre's 
friends,  furious  against  him,  flung  him  out  of  a  window. 
He  fell  on  a  dung-hill,1  which  broke  his  fall.  Scrambling 
1  See  page  151. 


THE  FALL    OF  ROBESPIERRE.  319 

out  of  this,  he  took  refuge  in  a  drain,  whence  he  was  dis- 
lodged, and  placed  with  his  accomplices.  Coffinhal,  the 
man  who  had  flung  him  from  the  window,  alone  escaped, 
and  took  refuge  in  the  "  lie  des  Cygnes,"  where  he  was  so 
nearly  starved  that  two  days  later  he  surrendered  himself  a 
prisoner. 

It  was  two  in  the  morning.  The  Commune  was  van- 
quished. The  reign  of  Robespierre  was  at  an  end. 

They  brought  stretchers  on  which  they  placed  Robes- 
pierre, his  brother,  Couthon,  and  the  body  of  Lebas.  Saint- 
Just  and  the  others  followed  as  prisoners.  The  party 
marched  to  the  Convention,  and  the  doors  of  the  Hotel  de 
Ville  were  closed.  t 

At  three  o'clock  Barras  and  his  twelve  deputies  reap- 
peared in  the  Convention,  and  announced  solemnly  that  the 
palace  of  the  municipality  of  Paris  was  in  their  hands ;  and, 
as  in  those  days  no  one  stuck  at  any  accusation,  how- 
ever absurd,  against  a  defeated  enemy,  they  asserted  that 
they  had  found  a  seal  engraved  with  fleurs  de  Us,  which 
proved  that  Robespierre  was  engaged  in  a  royalist  con- 
spiracy. 

Then  it  was  announced  that  the  stretcher,  on  which  lay 
the  wounded  Robespierre,  was  at  the  door.  The  Conven- 
tion refused  to  let  it  enter. 

It  was  not  necessary  to  send  Robespierre  and  the  rest 
before  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal.  They  had  already  been 
pronounced  outlaws.  They  were  taken  to  the  council-room 
of  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety.  An  eye-witness  tells 
us  :  — 

"  Robespierre  was  carried  by  the  same  men  who  had 
done  so  from  the  beginning.  He  hid  his  wounded  face 
with  his  right  arm.  The  party  stopped  for  a  moment  at  the 
foot  of  the  great  staircase  of  the  Tuileries.  Many  people 
came  round  him  from  curiosity.  Some  of  them  lifted  his 
arm  to  see  his  face.  One  said,  '  He  is  not  dead.  He  is 
still  warm.'  Another,  '  He  looks  like  a  fine  king !  does  n't 
he  ?  '  And  so  on.  The  bearers  were  unwilling  that  any  one 
should  meddle  with  him,  and  those  who  were  at  the  foot 


32O  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

of  the  stretcher  told  those  at  the  head  to  keep  their  end 
well  up  so  as  to  preserve  the  little  life  there  was  in  him. 
They  mounted  at  last  into  the  great  room  used  by  the  Com- 
mittee. They  laid  him  on  a  long  table  opposite  a  window, 
and  placed  his  head  on  a  box  containing  some  remains  of 
black  bread,  —  soldiers'  rations.  He  did  not  stir,  but  he 
breathed  heavily.  He  placed  his  right  hand  on  his  face ; 
evidently  wishing  to  conceal  it.  Among  those  who  had 
brought  him  were  a  fireman  and  a  cannoneer,  who  kept  on 
talking  to  him,  making  cruel  jests,  mocking  and  reproaching 
him.  He  wore  his  sky-blue  coat  and  his  nankeen  breeches 
as  he  had  done  on  the  day  of  the  Feast  of  the  Supreme 
JBeing,  seven  weeks  before  ;  but  his  clothes  were  in  disorder, 
and  his'  shirt  was  bloody.  He  had  no  hat  and  no  cravat, 
and  his  white  stockings  had  slipped  down  to  his  heels. 
About  four  o'clock  it  was  noticed  that  he  was  holding  a  kid 
bag  in  his  hand ;  it  was  marked :  Au  Grand  Monarque, 
Lecourt,  fonrnisseur  dtt  Roi  et  de  ses  troupes,  Rue  St.  Honore, 
Paris.  He  was  using  this  bag  to  stanch  the  blood  that 
came  from  his  mouth.  About  six  in  the  morning  Elie 
Lacoste  came  into  the  room  with  a  surgeon,  whom  he  told 
to  dress  the  wound,  "  that  'the  prisoner  might  be  in  a  condi- 
tion for  what  might  follow." 

There  is  no  need  to  relate  how  the  wound  was  dressed, 
men  standing  round  all  the  time  and  uttering  words  of  cruel 
insult,  "  which  he  must  have  heard,"  says  the  eye-witness, 
"  for  he  had  still  some  strength,  and  often  opened  his  eyes." 

Suddenly  he  rose  to  a  sitting  posture,  pulled  up  his 
stockings,  slid  to  the  other  end  of  the  table,  and  reached  a 
chair.  As  soon  as  he  was  seated,  he  made  a  sign  that  he 
wanted  water  and  a  clean  handkerchief.  He  looked  steadily 
at  the  men  around  him,  and  sometimes  cast  his  eyes  up 
to  the  ceiling.  His  complexion,  which  had  always  been 
sallow,  was  now  livid.  From  time  to  time  he  made  a  con- 
vulsive movement,  but  in  general  he  seemed  passive. 

Saint-Just,  who  had  been  brought  into  the  room  shortly 
after  Robespierre,  was  perfectly  silent.  His  clothes  were 
not  disordered.  Even  his  cravat  was  unrumpled.  He  wore 


THE  FALL   OF  ROBESPIERRE.  321 

a  coat,  chamois  color,  a  waistcoat  with  a  white  ground,  and 
breeches  of  pale  gray.  But,  notwithstanding  his  self-con- 
trol, his  face  showed  his  depression,  his  sense  of  humilia- 
tion, and  his  eyes  were  full  of  grief. 

Around  him  stood  Damas,  Payan,  and  a  few  others. 
Robespierre's  faithful  dog,  Brount,  had  not  quitted  his 
master. 

About  nine  on  the  morning  of  the  toth  Thermidor  (July 
28),  1794,  the  prisoners  were  taken  to  the  Conciergerie. 
Saint-Just  as  he  entered  the  hall,  where  was  hung  a  great 
picture  of  "  The  Declaration  of  the  Rights  of  Man  before  the 
Convention,"  remarked,  "  And  /  made  that!"  Those  were 
the  only  words  that  passed  his  lips  during  those  long  hours. 
As  for  Robespierre,  not  only  was  he  assailed  with  all  kinds  of 
insulting  words,  but  it  is  said  that  one  or  more  men  spat  in 
his  face  and  pricked  him  with  their  pen-knives. 

He  asked  a  turnkey  by  a  sign  to  bring  him  pen  and  ink, 
but  the  man  answered  :  "  What  the  devil  do  you  want  with 
pen  and  ink  ?  Do  you  think  you  can  write  to  your  Supreme 
Being?" 

The  task  of  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal  was  very  simple. 
The  accused  were  all  outlaws.  It  had  only  to  order  their 
execution.  It  did  so,  to  take  effect  that  day  on  the  Place 
de  la  Revolution. 

It  was  not  until  towards  evening,  however,  that  the  execu- 
tion took  place.  Some  time  was  needed  to  remove  the 
guillotine  from  the  Place  du  Trone  Renverse  to  the  Place 
de  la  Revolution. 

The  twenty-two  prisoners  were  placed  on  three  carts. 
Henriot,  still  half  drunk,  was  placed  next  to  the  brother  of 
Robespierre.  Couthon  lay  in  the  third  cart.  The  proces- 
sion moved  slowly.  When  in  the  Rue  St.  Honord  it 
stopped  before  Duplay's  house,  and  a  group  of  women 
danced  round  the  cart  that  held  the  man  who  had  had  his 
home  there. 

No  outrage  was  spared  Robespierre.  Carrier,  the  wretch, 
made  infamous  by  his  noyades  and  cruelties  at  Nantes, 
followed  the  cart,  crying,  "  Down  with  the  tyrant !  "  The 

21 


322  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

crowd  was  immense,  all  hooting,  cheering,  and  cursing. 
The  condemned  men  seemed  imperturbable,  and  continued 
silent.  The  crowd  bawled  out  that  they  were  cowards  ! 

It  was  past  seven  in  the  evening  when  the  procession 
reached  the  Place  de  la  Revolution.  Couthon  was  first 
executed,  then  the  younger  Robespierre.  Saint-Just  quietly 
mounted  the  scaffold.  When  twenty  heads  had  fallen,  came 
the  turn  of  Robespierre.  The  executioner  roughly  snatched 
at  the  linen  which  bound  his  broken  jaw,  and  his  cry  of  pain 
was  heard  all  over  the  Place  de  la  Revolution.  He  was 
speedily  laid  on  the  plank.  The  blade  fell,  and  the  execu- 
tioner held  up  the  head  to  the  populace.  Cries  of:  "Vive 
la  Convention  !  Vive  la  Republique  !  "  responded  to  the  sight. 
Joy  seemed  to  manifest  itself  among  the  spectators. 

Shortly  afterwards  Tallien  congratulated  the  Convention, 
inviting  it  to  share  in  the  general  rejoicing,  "  for  the  death 
day  of  a  tyrant  should  be  a  festival  for  fraternity." 

This  revolution  known  as  the  pth  Thermidor  has  never 
deserved  the  place  it  occupies  in  the  history  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. To  us  it  is  memorable  chiefly  for  having  opened  the 
prison-doors  to  many  in  whom  all  generations  take  an 
interest ;  but  the  men  who  made  this  revolution  were  on 
the  whole  worse  than  those  who  fell  in  it.  It  was  simply  a 
struggle  for  power  between  two  sets  of  Jacobins.  The  power 
of  Robespierre  fell  because  it  had  no  foundation.  Every- 
thing that  happened  was  a  surprise  to  all  concerned ;  cow- 
ardice and  meanness  were  everywhere  conspicuous.  Two 
or  three  men  only  showed  any  energy  or  decision.  Every- 
thing was  hap-hazard. 

Robespierre's  sole  aim  was  personal.  He  wanted  to 
attain  supreme  power.  The  enemies  he  destroyed  or  op- 
posed were  his  personal  enemies.  He  makes  but  a  sorry 
figure  among  historical  personages ;  his  aim  was  without 
elevation  ;  even  his  vices  were  not  great.  The  only  act 
which  individualizes  him  in  history  is  his  invention  of  the 
worship  of  the  Supreme  Being.  He  had  none  of  the  better 
qualities  of  those  earlier  leaders  of  the  Revolution  who 
became  his  victims. 


THE  FALL   OF  ROBESPIERRE.  323 

He  was  austere  in  his  morals,  and  incorruptible  in  honesty. 
He  despoiled  no  man  of  his  money, — only  of  his  dearest 
relatives  or  of  his  own  life.  His  cruelty  was  calm,  impassive, 
and  had  always  some  personal  end  in  view.  But  his  work 
on  earth  was  a  work  of  death.  Some  one  thus  wrote  his 
epitaph  after  his  execution. 

"  Stranger,  whoe'er  thou  art, 

Weep  not  for  me. 
Had  I  lived,  it  would  have  been 
Death,  friend,  for  thee  !  " 


W 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   CHAPTER   OF   EPISODES. 

Episode  First.  —  Robespierre  as  a  Poet. 

E  all  imagine  that  we  know  everything  that  can  be 
known  about  Robespierre,  and  we  know  something 
about  Lazare  Carnot,  grandfather  of  the  late  President  of 
the  Third  French  Republic  ;  but  few  persons  suspect  that  in 
1783  they,  together  with  all  the  young  aristocrats  of  Arras, 
sang  songs  in  praise  of  wine  and  love  and  beauty,  and, 
crowned  with  roses,  recited  in  public  ballads  and  madrigals 
of  the  Middle  Ages. 

Both  Robespierre  and  Carnot  were  active  members  of  the 
Society  of  the  Rosati,  founded  in  Arras  in  1778.  The 
meetings  of  this  society  took  place  on  the  banks  of  the 
Scarpe,  in  a  bower  of  roses  planted  for  that  purpose.  The 
meetings  of  the  Society  were  held  only  at  the  season  when  roses 
were  in  bloom,  and  the  candidate  for  admission  was  required 
to  pluck  a  rose,  to  inhale  its  fragrance  three  times,  and  to 
place  it  in  his  button-hole,  after  which,  taking  a  full  glass  of 
rosy  wine,  he  drank  it  at  one  draught  to  the  health  and 
prosperity  of  all  Rosati,  receiving  at  the  hands  of  the  Presi- 
dent a  diploma  in  verse,  which  was  to  be  responded  to  in 
like  manner. 

Here  are  the  verses  that  Robespierre  offered  to  the  Society 
on  his  admission, — 

THE  ROSE.* 

I  SEE  in  the  nosegay  you  offer 

A  sharp  thorn,  side  by  side  with  the  rose. 

Your  poetic  words  shame  the  poor  proffer 
Of  thanks,  gentle  sirs,  in  poor  prose. 

1  This  poem  was  translated  by  me  from  the  "  Supplement  Litte- 
raire  du  Figaro,"  and  the  translation  was  published  in  "  Harper's 
Magazine,"  April,  1889.  —  E.  W.  L. 


EPISODES.  325 

The  things  you  so  charmingly  said 

Have  confused  me  and  rendered  me  dumb  ; 

The  rose  is  the  compliment  paid, 
The  thorn  the  poor  answer  to  come. 

Ah,  yes,  in  this  beautiful /#<• 

Where  good  fellowship  reigneth  alone, 
What  bud  with  the  rosebud  can  mate  ? 

What  verses  can  equal  your  own  ? 
I  bewail  the  sad  fate  that  is  ours,  — 

The  fate  that  misplaces  —  alas  !  —  us ; 
For  what  the  rose  is  among  flowers, 

Your  poems  would  be  on  Parnassus. 

When  I  ponder  your  gift  I  confess 

'T  is  less  generous,  sirs,  than  I  thought  it, 
And  my  s,ense  of  your  kindness  grows  less 

With  my  knowledge  of  whence  you  have  brought  it. 
Your  sacrifice,  sirs,  may  be  found 

Not  so  great  as  the  world  would  suppose ; 
Since  your  gardens  with  laurels  abound, 

You  can  spare  me  the  gift  of  a  rose  1 

Episode  Second.  —  Robespierre's  Private  Life  with  the  Family 
of  Duplay* 

It  is  said  that  M.  Sardou,  the  dramatist,  is  about  to  write  a 
history  of  Robespierre's  career  ;  this  paper  is  taken  from  a. 
conversation  in  which  he  freely  communicated  many  par- 
ticulars he  had  gathered  in  his  researches. 

Some  writers  have  told  the  public  that  the  house  of  the 
cabinet-maker  Duplay,  in  which  Robespierre  lodged  during 
the  months  when  he  held  power  in  France,  has  been  utterly 
destroyed.  This  is  not  so.  It  is  standing  intact,  and  is  now 
inhabited  by  a  M.  Vaury.  Its  number  is  now  398  Rue  St. 
Honore.  On  each  side  of  the  forte  cochere  leading  to  the 
house,  which  stands  back  in  a  yard,  was  a  small  shop  in 
Robespierre's  day.  One  shop  was  occupied  by  a  jeweller  ; 
the  other  was  a  restaurant.  Two  doors  away  was  another 
for  the  sale  of  working  materials  and  embroidery,  kept 

1  From  an  article  in  the  "  Supplement  Litteraire  du  Figaro," 
August  n,  1894. 


326  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION: 

by  Madame  Condorcet,  wife  of  a  proscribed  Girondist 
deputy.  This  lady  also  took  portraits,  and  thus  gained  her 
livelihood. 

"  I  have  been  in  the  bed-chamber,"  said  M.  Sardou,  "  in 
which  the  dictator  may  be  said  to  have  barricaded  himself 
from  the  intrusion  of  the  world.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to 
approach  him  in  private.  He  kept  himself  well  out  of  reach 
of  troublesome  solicitations."  The  room  that  he  inhabited 
was  completely  surrounded  by  the  bed-chambers  of  the 
family  ;  and  the  workmen  who  carried  on  their  carpentry  and 
upholstery  in  the  back  yard  were  at  all  times  within  his  sight 
and  call.  The  chamber  of  Eleonore  Duplay,  the  fiancee  of 
Robespierre  (called  in  her  own  family  Cornelie),  was  in  a 
different  part  of  the  house. 

Robespierre  had  had  no  acquaintance  with  the  Duplay 
family  before  July  19,  1791,  when  a  riot  took  place  after  a 
great  reunion  of  revolutionists  upon  the  Champ  de  Mars. 
Robespierre  was  present  at  the  Jacobin  Club  that  day,  where 
a  few  of  those  who  called  themselves  the  "  friends  of  liberty  " 
had  been  assembled.  "  The  courtyard  of  our  Club," 
said  a  Jacobin  eye-witness  of  what  took  place,  "was  sud- 
denly "filled  with  artillery-men  and  chasseurs  d  barrieres, 
blind  instruments  of  the  fury  of  Lafayette  and  his  partisans. 
Robespierre  was  alarmed  at  the  idea  of  passing  through  the 
courtyard  in  order  to  reach  his  home,  when  the  sitting  should 
be  ended.  He  heard  the  soldiers  uttering  curses  and  threats 
against  the  Jacobins,  and  he  knew  himself  to  be  a  prominent 
member  of  the  club.  He  trembled  so  much  that  he  had  to 
lean  on  the  arm  of  Lecointre  of  Versailles,  who  was  wearing 
the  uniform  of  a  major  in  the  National  Guard,  and  on  that 
of  Lapoype,  afterwards  a  general  of  division,  but  at  that 
time  one  of  the  Jacobins. 

"  Robespierre  did  not  dare  to  go  back  to  his  lodgings,  then 
No.  20  in  the  Rue  Saintonge,  where  he  was  living  with  a 
man  named  Pierre  Villiers,  employed  by  him  at  that  time  as 
his  secretary.  He  asked  Lecointre  if  he  did  not  know  of 
some  place  near  the  Tuileries  where  a  good  patriot  would 
shelter  him  in  safety  for  that  night  ?  Lecointre  proposed  to 


EPISODES.  327 

him  to  go  to  Duplay's  house,  and  took  him  there.  From 
that  day  forth  Robespierre  took  up  his  abode  with  the 
Duplays." 

The  house  belonging  to  Maurice  Duplay  was  then  366,  but 
is  now  398,  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore\  It  consisted  of  a  hall 
on  the  ground-floor  and  a  dining-room  opening  on  the 
yard  ;  from  the  dining-room  a  staircase  led  up  to  the  rooms 
above.  Duplay  and  his  wife  had  a  large  chamber  on  the 
story  above  the  ground-floor  (au  premier}.  Their  four 
daughters  had  rooms  at  the  back  of  it.  The  bed-chamber 
of  Maximilien  Robespierre  looked  to  the  west ;  the  nephew 
of  Duplay,  Simon  by  name,  who  acted  as  secretary  to  the 
dictator,  and  Duplay's  young  son,  who  bore  his  father's 
name,  slept  in  the  next  chamber. 

The  father,  Maurice  Duplay,  was  a  little  more  than  fifty 
when  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  dictator.  He  was 
born  in  1738,  at  St.  Didier-en-Velay.  His  parents  were 
Jacques  Duplay  and  his  wife,  Marie  Bontemps.  The  pair 
had  had  ten  children.  Mathieu,  the  eldest  son,  and  Maurice, 
one  of  the  younger  ones,  became  cabinet-makers.  Maurice 
was  very  young  when  he  left  his  native  village  to  make  his 
journeyman's  tour  through  France.  After  long  wanderings 
he  settled  in  Paris,  where,  in  consequence  of  some  fortunate 
speculations,  he  soon  amassed  an  enviable  little  fortune. 

After  a  while  he  became  the  owner  of  three  houses,  —  one 
in  the  Rue  1' Arcade,  one  in  the  Rue  du  Luxembourg,  and 
one  in  the  Rue  d'Angouleme.  He  himself  lived  in  the 
house  on  the  Rue  St.  Honore\  for  which  he  was  to  pay  in 
instalments  eighteen  hundred  francs,  and  two  hundred  francs 
a  year  besides  as  rent  to  the  Sisters  of  the  Conception,  who 
owned  the  property. 

Maurice  Duplay  had  retired  from  business  when  the 
Revolution  broke  out,  and  he  does  not  seem  to  have  taken  a 
prominent  part  in  Revolutionary  matters. 

According  to  Lebas,  as  he  was  a  property-holder,  he  was 
forced  to  become  a  juryman  on  the  criminal  court  of  his 
Section  ;  and  in  consequence  of  holding  this  position,  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  refuse  to  serve  on  the  jury  of  the 


328  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION, 

Revolutionary  Tribunal,  notwithstanding  his  repugnance  to 
take  part  in  its  affairs. 

He  was  not  on  the  jury  that  tried  the  queen  or  Madame 
Elisabeth,  though  some  writers  have  said  so,  and  he  exer- 
cised his  terrible  functions  as  seldom  as  possible.  Some- 
times he  pleaded  the  necessity  of  attending  to  certain 
buildings  with  which  he  had  been  intrusted  by  the  govern- 
ment, and  thus  escaped  attending  the  Tribunal.  Most  of 
the  trials  to  which  his  name  is  appended  took  place  without 
him.  When,  after  the  fall  of  Robespierre,  Fouquier-Tinville 
and  all  the  jurymen  of  his  Tribunal  were  arraigned  in  the 
very  court  where  they  had  exercised  their  judicial  functions, 
Duplay  was  the  only  one  who  was  acquitted.  In  point  of 
fact  he  was  a  thoroughly  good  man.  In  forty  years  of  hard 
work  he  had  acquired  about  fifteen  thousand  francs'  worth 
of  real  estate.  But  the  disorders  of  the  country  soon  depre- 
ciated his  property  and  impaired  the  prosperity  he  had 
laboriously  and  quietly  achieved. 

His  wealth  was  in  houses.  The  houses  would  not  let, 
and  Duplay  found  himself  obliged  to  resume  his  business. 
This  account  is  taken  from  part  of  a  letter  from  Madame 
Duplajtto  her  daughter  Madame  Auzat,  found  in  Duplay's 
house  after  the  loth  Thermidor. 

Madame  Duplay  was  the  daughter  of  a  carpenter  of 
Choisy.  She  was  arrested  and  imprisoned  at  Ste.  Pelagic 
during  the  night  of  the  gth  Thermidor,  together  with  her 
husband  and  her  young  son  ;  and  she  died  in  the  prison, 
strangled  by  the  women  who  shared  her  captivity. 

She  had  had  four  daughters :  Sophie,  who  married  a 
lawyer  named  Auzat ;  Victoire,  who  never  married ;  Elisa- 
beth, born  in  1773,  who  married  on  August  20,  1793,  the 
deputy  Lebas,  who  perished  with  Robespierre  ;  and  Ele"onore, 
who  was  a  year  older.  Ele"onore  was  called  Cornelia  by  her 
family,  from  some  allusion  to  the  mother  of  the  Gracchi,  and 
she  lived  until  after  the  Restoration. 

The  only  son  of  Maurice  and  his  wife  was  the  boy 
Maurice.  He  was  employed  when  he  grew  to  manhood  as 
a  clerk  in  the  Bureau  of  the  Administration  Centrale  of  the 


EPISODES.  329 

Seine;  later,  in  1814,  he  was  made  superintendent  of  the 
hospitals  and  asylums  of  Paris,  —  a  post  which  he  held  almost 
till  his  death,  which  took  place  in  1846.  Simon  Duplay,  his 
cousin,  who  had  been  employed  by  Robespierre  as  his 
secretary,  had  enlisted  in  the  army  and  lost  a  leg  at  Valmy. 
He  then  was  kindly  received  by  his  uncle  into  his'  family, 
where  Robespierre  made  him  a  kind  of  humble  assistant. 
We  need  hardly  say  that  he  was  not  paid  much,  for  Robes- 
pierre considered  that  he  did  him  a  great  honor  by  choos- 
ing him  to  write  under  his  dictation.  After  Thermidor  poor 
Simon  was  thrown  into  prison,  and  all  his  papers  were 
seized.  He  married  subsequently,  and  his  son  became  a 
doctor.  Another  member  of  the  family,  Dr.  Simon  Duplay, 
is  still  living  (1894).  He  is  a  member  of  the  Academic  de 
Medecine,  a  clinical  professor  in  the  School  of  Surgery,  etc. 

Robespierre's  private  life,  while  he  lived  with  the  Duplay 
family,  seems  to  have  been  a  regular  and  quiet  one.  Only 
thrice  did  he  sleep  out  of  the  house,  and  then  he  went  to 
visit  his  sister  at  Arras.  The  only  recreation  he  allowed 
himself  was  occasionally  a  walk  in  the  Champs  Elyse"es 
along  the  edge  of  the  Jardin  Marboeuf,  which  was  the 
fashionable  promenade  at  that  day.  More  frequently- he  on 
his  return  from  the  Convention  preferred  to  work  quietly  at 
home. 

His  chamber  was  very  simply  furnished.  He  had  a 
walnut  bedstead  with  flowered  blue  damask  curtains  made 
out  of  an  old  gown  of  Madame  Duplay's.  There  were  some 
straw  chairs  and  a  common  chest  of  drawers,  and  some 
pine  shelves  hanging  from  the  wall  which  held  his  little 
library.  This  consisted  principally  of  the  works  of  Corneille, 
Racine,  Voltaire,  and  Rousseau.  The  room  had  only  one 
window,  which  looked  down  upon  the  sheds  where  the 
carpenters  did  their  work,  so  that  all  day  long  Robespierre 
read  and  wrote  to  the  sound  of  saws  and  hammers. 

He  got  up  very  early,  and  the  first  thing  he  always  did 
was  to  go  down  into  the  shop  and  wish  M.  and  Madame 
Duplay  good-morning. 

Then  he  settled  himself  to  work  for  some  hours,  taking 


330  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

no  refreshment  but  a  glass  Of  water.  Nobody  nt  that  time 
dared  to  disturb  him.  Daily,  however,  he  had  his  hair 
dressed,  and  this  operation  took  place  on  a  little  open 
gallery  which  overlooked  the  courtyard.  At  this  time  per- 
sons who  wished  to  look  at  him  could  do  so.  Crowds  came 
in  the  days  of  his  popularity,  but  he  took  little  notice  of 
them  ;  generally  he  jead  the  paper,  and  calmly  ate  his 
breakfast,  —  a  little  wine  and  bread  and  fruit.  When  he  was 
not  reading  he  looked  straight  before  him  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  ground  and  his  head  upon  his  hand,  as  if  he 
were  engaged  in  very  serious  and  important  thoughts. 

After  breakfast  he  went  back  to  his  work,  until  the  time 
came  for  him  to  appear  at  his  place  in  the  Committee  of 
Public  Safety,  or  the  Convention.  He  never  received  any- 
body in  the  morning,  unless  the  visitor  was  willing  to  avail 
himself  of  the  time  when  his  hair  was  being  dressed.  He 
dined  with  the  family,  and  //  is  recorded  that  he  always  said 
grace. 

On  one  occasion  he  was  highly  displeased  because 
Madame  Duplay  made  some  remark  about  her  table  being 
probably  not  as  good  as  he  ought  to  have.  On  principle  he 
never  paid  more  when  prices  advanced  than  he  had  engaged 
to  do  at  first,  because  he  said  it  might  encourage  bad  habits 
on  the  part  of  his  entertainers,  and  even  during  the  famine 
he  added  nothing  to  the  housekeeping,  that  they  might  be 
forced  to  make  no  difference  on  his  account.  If  he  accepted 
an  invitation  to  dinner  he  never  told  them,  on  the  presump- 
tion that  nothing  especial  would  be  prepared  for  him,  so  it 
could  make  no  difference.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  as  he 
was  unwilling  that  these  good  people  should  derive  no 
advantages  from  his  position,  he  did  many  good  offices  for 
their  children.  The  son,  who  was  also  a  cabinet-maker,  he 
promised  to  establish  in  business,  or  at  least  to  assist  in  his 
establishment,  and  he  promised  the  daughters  handsome 
wedding  presents,  provided  they  married  citizens  who  had 
borne  arms  for  their  country. 

At  table  he  ate  whatever  was  provided  for  the  family, 
and  drank  their  sour  wine.  After  the  meal  was  over  he  had 


EPISODES.  331 

coffee  served  for  him  and  stayed  for  an  hour  in  the  house 
ready  for  visitors ;  then  he  generally  went  out.  After  he 
became  head  of  the  government  he  engaged  a  secretary ; 
but  before  that  his  writing  was  done,  as  we  have  said,  by  the 
orphan  nephew  of  Duplay,  who  also  did  his  errands. 

He  generally  came  home  late,  for  he  would  often  work  in 
the  Committee  of  Public  Safety  up  to  midnight.  But  even 
if  he  was  not  at  the  Committee,  he  never  came  home  before 
twelve  o'clock.  Where  was  he  up  to  that  time  ?  No  one 
ever  knew.  If  any  one  wanted  him  in  the  evening  he 
was  told  to  put  off  seeing  him  till  the  next  day. 

These  particulars  have  been  gleaned  from  the  unpublished 
reminiscences  of  a  contemporary,  who  speaks  also  of  his 
extreme  temperance,  which  the  world  knew  already.  During 
the  last  months  of  his  life  he  drank  nothing  but  water,  being 
apprehensive  that  a  free  use  of  wine  or  liquor  might  make 
him  say  something  he  had  better  have  kept  unsaid.  The 
only  indulgence  he  allowed  himself  was  in  oranges,  a  number 
of  which  he  ate  at  every  meal.  A  perfect  pyramid  of  them 
was  always  placed  before  him  at  dessert,  and  he  ate  them 
at  all  seasons  with  avidity.  It  is  possible  that  he  may  have 
thought  they  counteracted  his  bilious  tendency. 

In  1785,  before  the  Revolution,  Robespierre  has  been 
described  as  a  short  man,  "  with  insignificant  features,  much 
pitted  with  the  small-pox.  His  forehead  was  arched  and 
white,  his  glance  dark  and  uncertain ;  he  looked  like  a  man 
whose  prominent  traits  of  character  were  hatred  and  envy." 

Another  contemporary  says  that,  although  his  head  had 
none  of  the  leonine  character  so  imposing  in  Mirabeau  and 
Danton,  in  spite  of  their  ugliness,  there  was  something  in 
his  "  persuasive  expression "  that  at  once  impressed  the 
beholder.  "  He  had  long  light  brown  hair,  which  he  wore 
turned  back,  a  broad  forehead,  bare  on  the  temples,  some- 
what arched,  and  prominent  above  the  eyebrows ;  his  eyes 
were  keen  and  clear,  full  of  thought,  but  concealed  unfor- 
tunately by  spectacles,  which  short-sight  rendered  indispen- 
sable to  him  ;  his  nose  turned  up  a  little ;  his  chin  was  firm, 
with  a  slight  dimple.  Such  was  his  appearance." 


332  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

This  portrait  is  wonderfully  flattering  if  we  may  believe 
others  drawn  by  his  contemporaries,  who  speak  especially  of 
the  uncertainty  of  his  glance  and  the  near-sightedness  of  his 
vision.  Sometimes  he  wore  green  spectacles. 

As  for  his  clothes,  they  were  always  well  made,  well 
chosen,  and  carefully  put  on  ;  and  he  alone  of  the  members 
of  the  Convention  continued  to  wear  ruffled  shirt-fronts  and 
lace  at  his  wrists.  A  painter  of  the  period  has  described 
him  with  his  hair  well  powdered,  in  a  white  embroidered 
waistcoat  turned  back  with  some  soft  color,  and  in  all  other 
respects  dressed  with  the  fastidiousness  of  a  dandy  of  1 789. 

What  was  it  in  the  personality  of  Robespierre  that  could 
have  won  the  affections  of  Eleonore  Duplay?  He  cared 
little  about  her  sex.  He  was  too  much  occupied  by 
dreams  of  ambition  to  let  himself  fall  under  the  influence  of 
a  woman.  "  He  cared  neither  for  women  nor  for  money, 
and  took  no  interest  whatever  in  his  own  private  affairs." 

He  seems  to  have  accepted  the  attentions  of  Eleonore 
Duplay  rather  than  to  have  been  in  love  with  her.  Her 
face  was  somewhat  masculine,  —  not  a  face  with  which  most 
men  would  fall  readily  in  love. 

She  was  pale,  with  thin  lips  and  expressionless  eyes. 
There  is  a  portrait  of  her  in  pastel  in  the  Muse'e  de  la  ReVo- 
lution.  She  looks  cold  and  stern,  without  any  charm  of 
gayety  or  tenderness. 

There  have  been  two  theories  concerning  Ele'onore 
Duplay,  —  one  that  she  was  Robespierre's  mistress,  the  other 
that  she  was  \i\sfiancee.  Charlotte  Robespierre,  the  dictator's 
sister,  thought  that  Madame  Duplay  being  anxious  for  the 
honor  of  having  such  a  son-in-law  as  Robespierre,  did  all 
in  her  power  to  make  the  match  ;  while  Ele'onore,  who  was 
ambitious  on  her  own  account,  did  all  she  could  to  captivate 
the  heart  of  Maximilien.  But  Robespierre,  according  to  his 
sister,  was  not  to  be  captivated.  The  attentions  bestowed 
on  him  annoyed  and  disgusted  him.  But  this  view  was 
probably  prompted  by  prejudice  and  jealousy. 

Robespierre  found  himself  the  object  of  warm  affection  in 
the  Duplay  family ;  and  he  could  not  but  be  sensible  of  their 


EPISODES.  333 

kindness.  They  positively  adored  him  ;  and  when  he  could 
spare  any  time  from  public  life,  he  seemed  to  revive  in  this 
atmosphere  of  devotion  and  kindliness.  It  was  especially 
when  dinner  was  over  and  they  all  passed  into  the  salon 
"  furnished  with  heavy  mahogany,  covered  with  stamped 
woollen  crimson  plush"  (velours  (V Utrecht}  that  Robes- 
pierre enjoyed  the  society  of  the  family.  While  the  girls 
occupied  themselves  with  needlework  or  embroidery,  Maxi- 
milien  would  read  aloud  from  Voltaire's  works  or  Rousseau's  ; 
from  Corneille  or  Racine.  He  read  well,  with  much  interest 
in  what  he  read,  and  enjoyed  at  the  same  time  the  pleasure 
he  was  giving. 

On  Thursdays  these  meetings  lost  their  family  character. 
Other  guests  joined  the  circle.  During  the  time  of  the 
Constituent  Assembly  the  brothers  Lameth  were  often  there. 
Afterwards,  in  the  days  of  the  Legislative  Assembly,  Merlin 
(de  Thionville)  came,  Collot  d'Herbois,  Panis,  and  Camille 
Desmoulins,  whom  Robespierre,  after  serving  as  best  man  at 
his  wedding,  sent  to  the  scaffold.  Artists  came  also,  Gerard 
the  painter,  Prudhon,  and  Buonarotti,  an  authentic  de- 
scendant of  Michael  Angelo,  who  played  the  piano.  Then 
there  was  Lebas,  who  was  a  passionate  admirer  of  Italian 
music  and  a  good  performer.  So  that  sometimes  for  hours 
politics  were  laid  aside  in  these  reunions. 

Lebas  was  faithful  to  Robespierre  to  the  last.  When 
arrested  with  his  friend  and  leader,  he  blew  out  his  brains. 
His  wife,  Elizabeth  Duplay,  was  confined  afterwards  in  prison, 
where  Philippe  Lebas,  her  son,  was  born.  It  was  this 
Philippe  Eebas  who  was  subsequently  chosen  by  Queen 
Hortense  to  be  tutor  to  her  son,  the  future  Emperor 
Napoleon  III. 

In  1854  Philippe  Lebas  lived  near  Paris,  at  Fontenay- 
aux-Roses.  Every  Saturday  he  went  to  see  his  mother,  a 
most  respectable  old  lady,  well  known  throughout  her  neigh- 
borhood for  her  piety  and  charity.  A  little  anecdote  told  by 
Doctor  Latour,  who  frequently  visited  her,  may  fitly  close  this 
paper. 

When  the  doctor  first  knew  her  his  attention  was  attracted 


334  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

by  a  large  and  handsome  parrot,  which  Madame  Lebas 
seemed  to  hold  in  great  consideration,  and  on  which  she 
lavished  every  kind  of  care  and  caress. 

"  The  bird  was  often  an  interruption  to  our  conversation," 
said  the  doctor,  "  breaking  in  with  bits  of  the  '  Marseillaise,' 
or  the  chorus  of  the  '  Qa  ira.' 

'  Qa  ira,  Qa  ira  1 
Les  aristocrates  a  la  lanterne  ;* 

or  the  other  well-known  lines  from  the  same  song,  — 

'  Madame  Veto  avail  promis 
De  faire  egorger  tout  Paris.' " 

"  Hush !  hush  !  my  little  pet,"  Madame  Lebas  would  say 
to  him.  But  the  bird  seldom  paid  her  much  attention  when 
he  was  in  the  humor  to  troll  out  his  demagogic  songs. 

One  day  the  doctor  ventured  to  say,  "  Your  bird  seems 
very  much  of  a  Revolutionist." 

"  Of  course  he  is,"  she  answered,  in  a  low  voice  ;  "  he  was 
the  parrot  of  our  saint,  Maximilien  Robespierre."  And  as 
she  said  this,  the  good  lady  made  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"  Yes,"  she  continued,  "  this  parrot  was  bequeathed  to 
me  when  our  family  was  broken  up.  We  Duplays  were 
devoted  to  our  saint "  (here  she  again  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross)  "  until  his  martyrdom  ..." 

So  here  was  this  most  respectable  old  lady,  a  pious  Chris- 
tian, and  a  fervent  Catholic,  whose  intellect  and  whose 
morals  were  above  suspicion,  giving  to  Robespierre  the 
honor  due  to  a  martyr  and  a  saint,  and  declaring  him  the 
victim  of  the  wickedness  and  perversity  of  mankind  ! 

She  had  taught  the  parrot  several  sentences  above  and  be- 
yond his  original  repertoire. 

One  day  she  said  to  her  visitor,  "  Come  here.  Go  up  to 
the  bird  and  say  Robespierre." 

"Hat  off!  Hat  off!"  cried  the  parrot,  fluttering  his 
wings. 

"  Say  Maximilien,"  prompted  Madame  Lebas. 

"  Maximilien  !  "  repeated  the  doctor. 

"  Martyr !  Martyr ! "  screamed  the  bird. 


EPISODES.  335 

"  Now  say  Ninth  Thermidor  ! " 

"  Ninth  rrhermidor  !  " 

"  Fatal  day  !  "  replied  the  parrot. 

"  Go  on,  and  ask  him  where  saint  Maximilien  is  now !  " 

When  this  question  was  put  the  bird  answered,  — 

"  In  heaven  ! " 

Madame  Lebas  died  at  Fontenay-aux-Roses,  about  1840. 
Her  son  Philippe  died  in  1860.  But  what  has  become  of  the 
parrot  ? 

Perhaps  he  is  alive  still.  Parrots,  they  say,  can  live  more 
than  one  hundred  years. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  the  story  of  Robespierre's  parrot  seems 
a  very  touching  one,  and  may  well  be  added  to  the  stories 
already  in  circulation  regarding  the  pigeons  and  the  canaries 
of  the  same  master. 

Episode  Third.  —  The  Revolutionary  Calendar?- 

One  of  the  things  which  made  the  French  Revolution 
memorable  was,  in  the  language  of  the  period,  that  it  repre- 
sented "  the  triumph  of  ideas."  But  the  "  ideas  "  of  the 
Revolution  were  not  new ;  and  for  the  most  part  they  sprang 
from  purely  English  sources.  Even  unbelief,  which  counted 
for  so  much  in  the  general  overturn  of  France  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  was  no  new  thing.  The  fool  had  said  in  his  heart 
there  is  no  God,  and  had  become  corrupt  and  abominable 
before  the  days  of  Pere  Duchene.  Nay,  even  the  Encyclo- 
pedists had  been  anticipated  in  England  by  Hobbes,  Toland, 
Tindal,  Shaftesbury,  and  Woolston.  The  simple  solution  of 
the  whole  matter  is,  that  while  ideas  had  been  steadily  grow- 
ing and  maturing  in  English  minds,  the  French  mind  had 
lain  comparatively  fallow.  Then,  having  suddenly  awakened 
to  certain  ideas,  the  French  philosophers  of  the  eighteenth 
century  imagined  they  had  a  monopoly  of  wisdom,  and  boldly 
undertook  to  instruct  the  world  in  those  "  principles  of  '89  " 
which  they  were  unaware  they  had  borrowed  from  England. 

1  Abridged  from  an  article  signed  Francis  Hitchman  in  the 
"  National  Review,"  1889. 


336  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

Amongst  the  "  ideas  "  of  the  Revolutionary  period  none 
took  a  firmer  root  or  exercised  a  wider  influence  than  the 
reform  of  the  existing  standards  of  weights,  measures,  and 
time.  As  to  the  weights  and  measures,  some  national  stand- 
ard was  sorely  needed.  Arthur  Young  in  his  travels,  shortly 
before  the  Revolution,  says,  "  The  infinite  perplexity  of  the 
measures  exceeds  all  comprehension.  They  differ  not  only 
in  every  province  and  every  district,  but  almost  in  every 
town."  That  some  reform  was  necessary  in  measures  and 
in  weights  was  evident,  even  to  this  travelling  Englishman, 
who  concerned  himself  with  facts,  and  not  "  ideas,"  and  the 
decimal  system  introduced  into  France  at  that  period  has 
proved  of  both  value  and  convenience,  though  long  after 
small  shopkeepers  in  by-streets  of  Paris,  or  in  the  country, 
charged  their  customers  in  sous,  and  sold  their  goods  by  the 
kilo,  the  aune,  and  the  demi-litre,  while  the  class  above  them 
still  talks  of  louis  and  ecus,  as  their  grandfathers  did. 

All  these  things  were  to  be  swept  away  in  the  Revolution 
of  '89.  They  were  marks  of  feudality,  traces  of  what  Victor 
Hugo  has  called  le  pied  de  Charlemagne,  The  Constitution 
of  '89  had  guaranteed  "  liberty  of  worship ; "  the  Republic 
denounced  worship  of  any  kind  ;  and  the  Terror  mercilessly 
guillotined  those  who  were  such  bad  citizens  as  to  seek  for 
moral  support  in  religion.  Having  got  rid  of  Christianity, 
having  in  its  own  phrase  "  abolished  God  "  and  enthroned 
a  Goddess  of  Reason  on  the  high  altar  of  Notre  Dame,  it 
seemed  only  natural  to  abolish  the  calendar,  which,  by  its 
nomenclature  and  divisions  of  time,  recalled  its  ecclesiastical 
origin.  Helen  Maria  Williams 1  tells  us  in  her  reminiscences 
of  her  residence  in  France,  that  the  desire  was  openly  ac- 
knowledged, "  by  a  different  nomenclature  of  the  months, 
weeks,  and  days,  to  banish  all  the  commemorations  of  Chris- 
tianity and  prepare  the  way  for  abolishing  religion  itself." 

1  The  life  of  Helen  Maria  Williams  was  certainly  not  sans  reproche, 
although  she  carefully  educated  the  orphan  children  of  her  sister,  one 
of  whom  lived  to  be  M.  Coquerel,  the  celebrated  Protestant  pastor  in 
Paris,  and  she  was  the  author  of  that  beautiful  hymn,  "  When  Thee  I 
seek,  Protecting  Power." — E.  W.  L. 


EPISODES.  337 

In  the  Convention  the  change  was  explained  and  sup- 
ported by  familiar  phrases.  The  calendar  in  use  was  con- 
demned as  being  "  anomalous,"  because  there  was  no  reason 
for  beginning  the  year  on  the  ist  of  January,  "except  the 
pleasure  of  Numa  Pompilius,  who  wished  to  propitiate  the 
god  Janus ; "  because  the  division  of  the  year  into  periods 
of  seven  days  was  "  unscientific,"  since  a  week  of  seven 
days  does  not  represent  one  of  the  phases  of  the  moon  ;  be- 
cause it  is  absurd  that  the  sun  s~hould  rule  the  day  of  twenty- 
four  hours,  while  the  moon  regulates  the  years,  and  so  forth. 
The  order  of  nature,  in  short,  was  out  of  harmony  with  the 
science  and  philosophy  of  1792-93.  All  that  could  be  done 
in  view  of  the  perversity  of  nature  was,  therefore,  to  make  the 
best  of  the  situation  and  subdue  the  recalcitrant  months  and 
weeks  as  completely  as  possible.  The  matter  was  therefore 
referred  to  the  Committee  of  Public  Instruction,  of  which 
Romme  was  the  chairman. 

Romme  was  a  singular  specimen  of  the  man  of  science 
turned  politician.  His  fellow-provincials  in  Auvergne  sent 
him  as  their  representative  to  the  National  Convention,  where 
he  at  once  took  his  place  on  the  Mountain  and  devoted  him- 
self to  the  task  of  remodelling  society  on  democratically 
philosophic  principles.  Under  the  Terror  he  prospered ; 
but  in  the  reaction  which  followed  the  death  of  Robespierre 
he  was  arrested  and  brought  to  trial,  —  "  not  for  what  he 
had  done,  but  for  what  he  was," — and  dramatically  ended 
his  life  by  stabbing  himself  at  the  bar  of  the  military  tribunal 
which  had  condemned  him  (iyth  of  June,  1795). 

His  report  was  adopted  by  the  Convention  Oct.  5,  1793  ; 
and  five  days  later  one  of  those  extraordinary  national  fetes 
which  fill  us  with  amazement  and  amusement  took  place  in 
honor  of  the  event  at  Arras,  a  little  town  best  known  to  fame 
as  the  birthplace  of  Robespierre.  These  performances  ex- 
cited great  enthusiasm  in  republican  bosoms  at  that  time, 
and  there  are  still  some  persons  who  profess  to  consider 
them  "  sublime  and  affecting." 

It  is  said  that  twenty  thousand  people  walked  in  proces- 
sion at  Arras  in  honor  of  the  new  division  of  time.  They 

22 


338  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

were  divided  into  groups  according  to  their  ages,  and  rep- 
resented the  months.  Following  the  twelve  months  came 
a  little  "  sacred  group,"  representing  the  supplementary  days 
which  made  up  the  republican  year,  and  last  of  all  came  the 
representative  of  leap  year,  —  a  venerable  centenarian,  who, 
after  the  march  past  was  over,  planted  a  tree  of  liberty. 
There  were  bevies  of  virgins  in  white,  and  parties  of  artisans 
who  "  consecrated  their  tools  by  touching  the  tree  of  liberty 
with  them."  The  elders  grouped  themselves  around  it  and 
ate  and  drank,  while  the  youths  and  maidens  waited  upon 
them. 

The  new  calendar  succeeded  in  producing  the  most  ad- 
mired disorder  under  the  pretext  of  simplicity  and  regularity. 
To  begin  with,  the  year  was  divided  into  twelve  months, 
each  of  thirty  days,  and  completed  by  five  days  superadded 
(jours  comple'mentaires),  with  an  additional  day  in  leap  year. 
The  old  week  —  old  as  the  time  of  the  Babylonians  —  was 
suppressed  ;  each  month  was  divided  into  three  decades  of 
ten  days  each.  The  day  was  to  be  divided  into  ten  parts, 
each  of  which  was  to  be  divided  into  ten  others,  so  as  to 
complete  the  decimal  division  of  time.  But  the  Convention, 
notwithstanding  its  enthusiasm  for  scientific  symmetry,  hesi- 
tated to  take  a  step  which  would  at  one  stroke  have  rendered 
useless  every  watch  and  clock  in  France.  Happily,  the  latter 
portion  of  Romme's  scheme  was  set  aside  and  never  heard 
of  again.  It  is  said,  however,  that  some  dials  were  actually 
made  on  the  new  system. 

The  Convention  had  previously  decreed  that  the  new  era 
should  begin  on  Sept.  22,  1792.  This  was  the  first  day  of 
the  year  I.  of  the  Republic,  and  year  II.  was  to  begin  Jan.  i, 
1 793.  Thus  the  year  I.  consisted  of  only  three  months  and 
nine  days.  Romme's  system,  however,  altered  this  arrange- 
ment, and  all  dates  between  January  and  September,  1793, 
which  had  been  year  II.  of  the  Republic,  were  thenceforward 
to  be  considered  as  belonging  to  year  I. 

Romme  had  named  his  months  I.,  II.,  III.,  etc.  ;  but 
the  Convention  called  in  a  poet  to  supplement  his  work  by 
giving  them  fanciful  and  significant  names.  The  result  of 


EPISODES.  339 

the  labors  of  Fabre  d'Eglantine,  the  poet  chosen,  was  as 
follows  :  — 

AUTUMN. 

Vendemiaire  .  .  Vintage  month  .  .  .  September  22  to  October  21. 
Brumaire  ....  Foggy  month  ....  October  22  to  November  20. 
Frimaire  ....  Hoar-frost  month  .  .  November  21  to  December  20. 

WINTER. 

Nivose     Snowy  month    ....  December  21  to  January  19. 

Pluviose     ....  Rainy  month     ....  January  20  to  February  18. 

Ventose Windy  month    ....  February  19  to  March  20. 

SPRING. 
Germinal    ....  Budding  month    .  .  .  March  21  to  April  19. 

Floreal Flowery  month    .  .  .  April  20  to  May  19. 

Prairial Pasture  month  ....  May  20  to  June  18. 

SUMMER. 
Messidor    ....  Harvest  month    .  .  .  June  19  to  July  18. 

Thermidor    .  .  .  Hot  month July  19  to  August  17. 

Fructidor   ....  Fruit  month August  18  to  September  16. 

To  complete  the  year,  five  supplemental  days  were  added 
between  September  16  and  September  22.  These  days  were 
officially  called  Sansculottides,  and  were  respectively  devoted 
to  national  festivals  :  I.,  in  honor  of  genius;  II.,  of  labor; 
III.,  noble  actions ;  IV.,  rewards  ;  and  V.,  opinions.  The 
sixth  Sansculottide,  which  was  the  extra  day  in  leap  year, 
was  to  be  the  Grand  Festival  of  the  Revolution,  when  every 
one  should  renew  his  oath  to  be  free  or  die. 

The  days  of  the  decade  were  to  be  Primidi,  Duodi.  Tridi, 
and  so  forth  till  they  reached  the  tenth,  Decadi.  Lest  the 
people  should  regret  the  absence  of  the  names  of  saints,  mar- 
tyrs, and  confessors  to  which  each  day  had  been  dedicated 
in  the  Gregorian  calendar,  a  list  was  drawn  up  of  domestic 
products,  implements  of  agriculture,  and  domestic  animals, 
to  take  the  place  of  the  lost  saints  and  their  festivals.  Every 
Quintidi  was  dedicated  to  some  animal,  every  Decadi  to 
some  agricultural  implement ;  the  rest  were  devoted  to 
familiar  fruits,  flowers,  and  vegetables.  For  example,  take 
the  first  decade  in  Vendemiaire  :  — 


340 


THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION, 


I.  Primidi    . 
II.  Duodi  .  . 
III.  Tridi    .  . 

.  Grapes. 
.  Buckwheat. 
.  Chestnuts. 

VI.  Sextidi 
VII.  Septidi 
VIII.  Octidi  . 

.  .  Balsam. 
.  .  Carrots. 
.  .  Amaranth. 

IV.  Quartidi  . 

.  Colchicum. 

IX.  Nonidi 

.  .  Parsley. 

V.  Quintidi  .  .  The  horse.  X.  De'cadi    .  .  The  tub. 

i 
Modern  republican  historians,  apparently  ashamed  of  this 

fantastic  folly,  pass  it  over  with  slight  mention  ;  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  it  lasted  but  a  very  short  time,  —  long  enough, 
however,  for  many  republican  enthusiasts,  when  the  mania 
for  turning  Jacques  and  Pierres  into  Timoleons,  Catos,  Bru- 
tuses,  and  the  like  was  dying  out,  called  their  children  after 
the  herbs  and  animals  dedicated  to  the  day  on  which  they 
were  born.  Thus,  General  Doppet  was  Pervenche  (Peri- 
winkle) Doppet ;  General  Peyron,  Myrte  (Myrtle)  Peyron  ; 
General  Lamier,  Peuplier  (Poplar)  Lamier,  and  so  on.  But 
the  most  ardent  Jacobin  would  surely  have  drawn  the  line 
at  the  names  of  Parsley,  Pumpkin,  Carrot,  Turnip,  Onion, 
Asparagus,  and  Dandelion,  which  in  French  slang  have  all 
an  offensive  significance. 

The  new  calendar  was,  however,  never  acceptable  to  the 
French  nation,  partly  because  whatever  latent  piety  there  was 
in  France  —  and  it  is  now  known  that  there  was  far  more 
than  is  currently  believed  —  was  offended  by  the  ostentatious 
repudiation  in  it  of  every  trace  of  religion,  but  there  was  an 
even  stronger  reason  for  the  unpopularity  of  the  new  arrange- 
ment. From  time  immemorial  Sunday  had  been  a  holiday 
in  France.  The  claims  of  religion  having  been  acknowledged 
by  attendance  at  mass  in  the  early  part  of  the  day,  the  hours 
remaining  had  been  given  up  to  festivity.  The  new  distribu- 
tion of  time  gave  only  three  holidays  instead  of  four  in  every 
month,  —  holidays  that  were  to  be  devoted  to  the  "  contem- 
plation and  commemoration  of  abstract  ideas." 

In  the  early  days  of  the  Revolution  Mirabeau  had  warned 
his  colleagues  that  if  they  attempted  to  abolish  Christianity 
they  would  inevitably  prepare  the  way  for  the  annihilation  of 
their  work  and  themselves.  The  event  proved  the  correct- 
ness of  this  anticipation.  The  work  of  completely  de-Chris- 


EPISODES.  341 

tianizing  the  Republic  had  hardly  begun  when  Robespierre 
and  his  fellows  were  sent  to  the  guillotine. 

When  fairly  in  working  order,  the  new  calendar,  scientifi- 
cally perfect  though  it  was  supposed  to  be,  was  found  full  of 
inconveniences  by  the  public ;  for  instance,  there  was  the 
necessity  of  dating  many  things  twice  over,  —  once  to  comply 
with  the  law  of  the  Republic,  and  again  to  be  intelligible  to 
the  outside  world.  Of  course,  it  might  be  highly  gratifying 
to  some  to  date  a  legal  document  "  10  Messidor,  An  II.," 
but  in  practice  it  was  rather  inconvenient  to  ransack  one's 
memory  or  one's  arithmetic,  or  refer  to  an  almanac,  to  find  out 
that  the  rest  of  the  world  knew  the  date  only  as  June  28, 1794. 

Napoleon,  who  was  certainly  not  wanting  in  common 
sense,  speedily  made  this  discovery,  and  had  not  been  long 
consul  before  he  resolved  on  a  reform.  When,  in  April, 
1801,  freedom  of  worship  was  restored,  and  it  ceased  to  be 
a  crime  to  say  one's  prayers  in  public l  the  first  step  was 
taken  by  the  revival  of  Sunday.  The  Decadi  was  not  abol- 
ished, but  on  Sundays  the  public  offices  were  closed  whether 
they  agreed  with  the  Decadi  or  not,  —  an  arrangement  which 
commonly  led  to  the  observance  of  both  days.  The  change 
was  universally  popular.  The  churches  were  thronged  on 
Sunday  mornings,  and  the  old  merry-making  of  the  afternoon 
and  evening,  never  wholly  suppressed,  was  renewed  with 
more  vigor  than  ever.  When  the  Empire  was  firmly  estab- 
lished on  the  15  Fructidor,  An  XIII.  (Sept.  2,  1805),  the 
Senate  restored  the  calendar  as  it  existed  before  the  law 
of  October,  1793.  The  calendar  of  the  Revolution  had 
nominally  lasted  fourteen  years,  but,  as  it  was  not  brought 
into  operation  until  Oct.  1 2,  1 793,  its  actual  life  was  barely 
twelve  years.  During  that  limited  space  of  time,  however, 
it  created  a  perfectly  unequalled  amount  of  trouble  and 
inconvenience.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  any  human  in- 
vention has  ever  given  a  thousandth  part  of  the  annoyance 
to  inoffensive  people  that  has  been  caused  by  the  scientific 

1  Mr.  Griffith  says  (see  page  63)  that  when  he  returned  to  France, 
in  April,  1795,  after  the  fall  of  Robespierre,  he  found  the  churches  in 
Northern  France  open  and  thronged. 


342 


THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 


idea  of  Romme  and  his  coadjutor  Fabre,  the  poetaster  and 
stock-jobber. 

Episode  Fourth.  —  "  WHICH  ?  " 

One  of  Francois  CoppeVs  charming  little  poems  com- 
memorates an  action  not  without  many  parallels  in  those 
terrible  days  when  men  and  women  waited  in  prison  for 
death.  I  translated  it,  and  it  was  published  in  "  Lippincott's 
Magazine,"  August,  1884.  It  is  in  my  Scrapbook,  and  I 
insert  in  here:  — 

WHICH? 

SCENE.  —  The  Conciergerie.     Time.  —  Thermidor. 

Two  hundred  prisoners  lay  there,  waiting  for 

Judicial  butchery.     As,  in  the  hall,  their  feet 

Paced  up  and  down,  Death's  huge  flail  seemed  to  beat 

On  the  last  ears  of  harvest.     Big  with  fate, 

Clouds  lowered  over  Paris.     The  coupe-t£te 

Sweated  and  toiled ;  and  yet  two  hundred  lay 

Ready,  expectant,  innocent.  —  Each  day 

A  coarse,  fierce,  cruel,  brutal  man  appeared 

Smoking  a  pipe,  removed  it,  stroked  his  beard, 

And,  spelling  over  the  day's  list,  called  out 

Name  after  name,  pronounced  half  wrong,  no  doubt. 

These  were  the  victims  named  for  that  day's  cart. 

Each  rose  at  once,  calm,  ready  to  depart, 

Without  a  shudder  —  without  groan  or  tear. 

Each  one  embraced  his  friends,  and  answered,  "  Here  I  " 

What  use  to  tremble  at  a  daily  call  ? 

Death  stood  so  near  —  was  so  well  known  to  all  1 

Men  of  low  birth  and  men  of  lineage  high 

Walked  with  an  equal  fortitude  —  to  die. 

All  brave  alike  —  noble  or  Girondist. 

It  chanced  the  jailer  with  the  fatal  list, 

Reading  it  out  to  the  sad  crowd  one  day, 

Called  out  one  name  distinctly,  "  Charles  Leguay  1 " 

Two  men  at  once  stepped  forward  side  by  side. 

"  Present !  "  two  voices  to  his  call  replied. 

He  burst  out  laughing. 

"  I  can  pick  and  choose  !  " 

One  was  a  bourgeois,  old,  in  square-toed  shoes, 
Cold  and  respectable,  with  powdered  wig ; 
Of  some  provincial  law-court  the  last  twig ; 


EPISODES.  343 

Ex-deputy  of  the  Third  Estate,  perchance. 
The  other,  with  calm  brow  and  fiery  glance, 
Was  a  young,  handsome  officer,  —  still  dressed 
In  his  torn  uniform. 

«  Ha !  Ha !  I  'm  blest 

But  this  is  funny,"  roared  the  man  who  read 
The  daily  death-list.     Then  he  stopped  and  said  : 

"  Have  both  got  the  same  name,  —  the  two  of  you  ?  " 

"  We  are  both  ready." 

"  No;  that  will  not  do," 
Replied  the  jailer.     "  One  's  enough  for  me. 
Explain  yourselves.     I  '11  settle  it.     Let 's  see." 

But  both  were  Charles :  both  bore  the  name  Leguay  ; 
Each  had  been  sentenced  the  preceding  day. 

The  jailer  rolled  his  eyes  and  scratched  his  head. 
"  The  devil  take  me  if  I  know,"  he  said, 
"  Which  of  the  two  of  you  I  'd  better  pick. 
Here,  citizens,  you  settle  it ;  but  be  quick, 
For  Sanson  don't  like  waiting  for  his  cart." 

The  young  man  drew  the  elder  man  apart. 

Few  words  sufficed.     Two  questions,  and  no  more. 

"  Married  ? " 

"  Ah !  yes." 

"  How  many  children  ? " 

"  Four." 

"  Well !  —  are  you  ready  ?  Speak,  —  which  is  to  die  ?  " 
"  Marchons  !  "  the  officer  replied,  —  "  't  is  I !  " 

Episode  Fifth.  —  Dogs  in  the  Revolution. 

We  have  seen  how  poor  Brount,  the  Danish  dog  of  Robes- 
pierre, followed  his  master's  stretcher,  when,  wounded,  he 
was  carried  into  the  great  Hall  of  the  Tuileries,  then  appro- 
priated to  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety,  and  when  men 
gloried  in  his  sufferings,  insulted  him,  pricked  him  with  knives, 
and  spat  on  him,  the  dog  stayed  faithful.  Probably  he  was 
separated  from  his  master  at  the  door  of  the  Conciergerie. 
One  would  like  to  know  what  became  of  him.  Did  he  find 
his  way  home  to  the  Rue  St.  Honore  ?  and  did  the  same 
hands  that  fed,  tended,  and  caressed  Robespierre's  parrot 
extend  the  same  kindness  to  his  dog? 


344  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

One  hundred  years  after  this  period  l  M.  Loz£,  a  deputy  in 
the  French  Chamber,  whom  Parisians  call  le  canicide,  re- 
vived against  the  dogs  of  Paris  the  same  barbarous  ordinances 
directed  against  them  in  1792  by  the  Commander-in-Chief 
of  the  National  Guard,  the  celebrated  brewer,  Santerre,  who 
declared  war,  a  merciless  war,  against  all  dogs  and  cats  in 
"  the  departments  of  Paris/' 

Shortly  before,  one  of  the  petty  states  of  Germany,  that  of 
the  Prince  of  CEttingen,  had  embarked  on  a  similar  crusade. 
The  Chevalier  de  Lang  tells  us  in  his  memoirs  that  the  Coun- 
cil of  State  in  that  tiny  principality  seriously  discussed  the 
advisability  of  destroying  all  the  dogs  in  (Ettingen.  As  a 
preliminary,  officials  were  to  take  a  census  of  all  dogs,  stating 
each  dog's  name,  his  appearance,  his  age,  his  breed,  and  what 
use  was  made  of  him.  History,  however,  further  informs  us 
that  the  prince's  scheme  fell  through. 

In  Paris,  General  Santerre  was  not  more  fortunate.  It  is 
true  that  the  dread  of  hydrophobia  was  not  then  invented. 
Newspapers  had  not  terrified  whole  neighborhoods  by 
accounts  of  horrible  experiences,  infernal  sufferings,  and 
touching  cases  of  inoculation  by  Pasteur.  Santerre  had  other 
charges  to  bring  against  dogs,  and  even  "  harmless  necessary 
cats."  France  was  menaced  by  all  Europe  at  that  moment ; 
Paris  might  be  considered  in  a  state  of  siege.  The  troubles 
arising  out  of  the  Revolution  and  the  advance  of  the  allied 
armies  might  cut  off  supplies.  A  vision  of  frightful  famine 
rose  before  Santerre  ;  and  he,  being  a  patriot  of  forethought, 
calculated  how  many  dogs  there  were  in  Paris,  and  how  many 
cats,  all  superfluous  consumers,  and  he  argued  that  it  would 
be  right  to  get  rid  of  them,  that  they  might  not  devour  food 
that  could  be  eaten  by  citizens. 

He  stated  to  the  Commune  that  the  food  consumed  by 
cats  and  dogs  would  probably  sustain  fifteen  hundred  persons  ; 
it  was  equal  to  the  loss  of  ten  sacks  of  flour  a  day.  The  dogs 
and  cats  were  useless  mouths,  and  therefore  the  Commune 
should  destroy  them. 

Santerre  was  a  general :  he  drew  up  accordingly  a  plan  of 
1  "Supplement  Litteraire  du  Figaro,"  Nov.  12,  1892. 


EPISODES.  345 

campaign  against  the  foes  whom  he  denounced.  Dogs  and 
cats  were  to  be  hunted  down,  arrested,  or  killed  in  the  streets  ; 
but  it  would  be  proper  also  to  make  sure  that  the  proscribed 
animals  did  not  take  refuge' in  houses,  where  many  old  maids 
might  try  to  protect  with  all  the  energy  of  despair,  the 
dear  companions  of  their  loneliness,  their  beloved,  their 
cherished,  their  adored  poodles  and  pussy  cats.  It  would 
be  necessary  for  the  Convention  to  decree  domiciliary  visits 
to  hunt  for  cats  and  dogs.  The  National  Guard  ought  to  be 
called  out  to  assist  in  the  work  of  their  destruction. 

Santerre  had  unfortunately  not  foreseen  that  an  almost 
unanimous  public  opinion  would  condemn  his  plan  of  cam- 
paign as  soon  as  he  announced  it  to  the  Convention.  The 
press  protested  against  it,  just  as,  a  hundred  years  later,  it 
protested  against  the  cruel  proposals  of  M.  Loze. 

"  Dogs  and  cats,"  wrote  a  journalist  of  the  period,  "  will 
contrive  to  make  good  their  escape  from  General  Santerre, 
and  find  refuge  in  places  where  he  cannot  get  at  them. 
Added  to  which,  these  creatures,  —  born  republicans,  —  who 
sleep  with  one  eye  open,  and  if  possible  near  an  unclosed 
door,  will  at  the  slightest  noise  make  for  the  roofs  and  the 
gutters,  and  what  National  Guard  is  so  active  as  to  be  able  to 
follow  them  and  catch  them  there  ?  No,  —  pardon  us  for 
saying  it,  —  but  animals  know  better  how  to  preserve  their 
freedom  than  men." 

By  degrees  public  opinion  became  greatly  excited.  The 
measures  proposed  by  Santerre  were  said  to  smack  of  the 
Bastille  and  the  Inquisition  ;  the  pets  of  the  people  were 
to  be  excommunicated.  Santerre's  plan  was  reactionary, 
worthy  of  the  days  of  despotism  and  of  dense  superstition. 
Prud'homme,  in  his  "  Revolutions  de  Paris,"  thus  vigorously 
denounced  it. 

"  Alas  for  such  dogs  and  cats,"  he  cried,  "  as  may  dare 
to  protest  in  their  own  language  against  the  decrees  of  San- 
terre !  for  why  should  they  be  refused  the  right  to  make  their 
humble  petition  against  the  cruel  injustice  and  gratuitous 
barbarity  which  he  proposes  to  exercise  against  them.  They 
will  say  :  '  Brave  general,  has  not  your  famous  expedition  into 


346  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

La  Vendee  covered  you  sufficiently  with  glory  ?  *  Why  must 
you  try  to  make  yourself  more  famous  at  the  expense  of  dogs 
and  cats,  who  have  never  conspired  against  any  creatures 
save  the  citizen's  domestic  enemies  ?  But  gentlemen  of  the 
Council  of  the  Twelve,  of  whom  you  are  the  right  arm,  tell 
us  that  "  this  canaille  consumes  each  day  ten  sacks  of  flour." 
Never  was  so  much  noise  made  about  ten  sacks  of  flour,  even 
when  the  mill  was  grinding  it !  Has  the  great  Chabot  for- 
gotten the  services  that  cats  rendered  to  him  when  he  was 
shut  up  in  his  cell  as  a  Capuchin?  Did  they  not  free  him 
from  the  rats  who  wanted  to  share  that  cell  with  him  ?  But 
for  the  cats  they  might  have  followed  him  into  the  Com- 
mittee of  Public  Safety.  Let  Chabot  give  the  order,  —  cats 
will  fight  rats  still.  They  say  that  a  beard  is  a  sign  of  wisdom. 
Ah,  M.  Chabot,  why  did  you  shave  off  yours  ?  '  ' 

Good  reasons  for  not  interfering  with  dogs  and  cats  rained 
down  on  the  authorities.  "  If  you  exterminate  the  cats,  mice 
and  rats  will  replace  them  as  consumers.  They  will  destroy 
incalculably  more  grain  in  the  corn  market  and  in  the 
bakeries.  That  loss  will  be  more  than  General  Santerre's 
ten  sacks  of  flour  a  day." 

Never  was  it  demonstrated  with  deeper  feeling  that  dogs 
are  the  friends  of  man.  It  was  asked  if  dogs  had  not  rendered 
great  services  in  besieged  cities.  "  Instead  of  being  useless 
consumers  of  food,"  pleaded  some  of  the  most  practical  jour- 
nalists, "  dogs  often  increase  the  food  supply  in  a  besieged 
city.  In  case  of  extremity  may  not  man  turn  even  his 
brave  friends  to  advantage  by  sending  them  to  the  slaughter- 
house ?  As  to  cats,  more  than  one  patriot  must  have  known 
by  experience  that  they  make  sundry  succulent  dishes." 

Some  economists  took  pains  to  prove  that  for  food  pur- 
poses dogs  and  cats  were  worth  more  to  Paris  than  the  ten 
sacks  of  flour  a  day  that  Santerre  protested  they  consumed. 

"  Every  Sunday, "  said  the  "  Revolutions  de  Paris,"  "  there 
is  at  least  one  pain  bhiit "  (one  loaf  of  blessed  bread)  "  in 
every  parish  in  the  city.  This  pain  benit,  made  formerly  of 

1  Santerre  failed  ignominiously  in  his  campaign  against  the 
Chouans. 


EPISODES.  347 

the  finest  wheat  flour,  and  almost  like  cake,  is  now,  it  is  true, 
nothing  more  than  common  bread,  but  it  is  bread,  and  each 
loaf  weighs  about  four  pounds.  Now  at  this  moment  there 
are  at  least  fifty  thousand  municipalities  in  France ;  if  each 
has  two  parishes,  —  and  that  calculation  is  under  the  mark, 

—  it  would  make  one  hundred  thousand  loaves  a  week  of 
four  pounds  each  :  one  million  pounds  of  bread  each  month 
snatched  from  general  consumption,  lost  to  the  community. 
.  .  .  To  do  away  with  such  'blessed  loaves,'  and  so  save 
thirty  millions  of  pounds  of  bread,  would  be  a  meritorious 
work,  worthy  of  good  citizens." 

What  answer  could  be  made  to  such  triumphant  arguments 
and  calculations  ?  The  suppression  of  pains  benits  would  be 
certainly  an  economy  that  would  fully  compensate  for  the 
loss  of  the  ten  sacks  of  flour  bemoaned  by  the  patriotic 
general. 

Another  patriot,  an  enemy  of  luxurious  habits,  suggested 
a  better  way  of  saving  flour.  "  Let  men  and  women  give 
up, "  he  cried,  "  the  practice  of  loading  their  heads  with 
hair-powder.  Let  us  not  waste  what  may  hereafter  be  to  us 
of  prime  necessity ;  and  let  us  deserve  the  benefits  of  nature 
by  the  use  that  we  make  of  them.  Let  ritoyens  and  citoyennes 
deny  themselves  hair-powder  and  keep  their  cats  and  dogs. 
Women  will  not  look  the  less  charming,  and  men  will  seem 
more  manly." 

So  many  arguments,  protestations,  calculations,  remon- 
strances, and  suggested  sacrifices  could  not  but  outweigh 
the  zeal  of  Santerre.  Before  long  no  more  was  heard  of  the 
slaughter  of  domestic  animals. 

Thus  while  cannon  thundered  on  the  frontier,  and  re- 
publican France  put  forth  all  her  energies  to  defend  her  soil ; 
whilst  the  prisons  that  had  become  antechambers  to  the 
scaffold  were  crowded  with  men  and  women,  and  the  pave- 
ments of  the  capital  were  still  wet  with  innocent  blood,  Paris 

—  Great  Paris,  even  in  1792  — had  one  soft  spot  in  its  heart, 
and  succeeded  in  saving  from  slaughter,  denunciation,  and 
proscription  its  amorous  tomcats  and  its  curly  poodles ! 


BOOK   V. 

THE   CLERGY   OF   FRANCE    DURING   THE    REVO- 
LUTION. 

I.    EXILES  FOR  CONSCIENCE'  SAKE. 
II.    A  CONVENTIONAL  BISHOP. 
III.    A  PROTESTANT  PASTOR. 


CHAPTER  I. 
EXILES  FOR  CONSCIENCE'  SAKE.* 

"D  Y  a  decree  of  the  Convention,  on  the  2d  of  Novem- 
•*— '  her,  1789,  church  property  was  confiscated  for  the 
benefit  of  the  State.  Bishops  and  parish  priests  were  to  be 
paid  by  salaries  from  the  government  (as  is  the  case  in 
France  at  the  present  day).  In  many  instances  this  gave  a 
better  stipend  to  the  working  clergy  than  they  had  enjoyed 
under  the  old  system,  while  the  vast  wealth  of  the  higher 
clergy  and  of  the  religious  houses  was  treated  as  public 
property,  and  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  State.  During  the 
discussion  of  this  measure  it  was  proposed  to  go  further,  and 
remodel  the  whole  constitution  and  legal  status  of  the  clergy 
of  France.  This  was  accordingly  done,  and  the  measures 
enacted  formed  what  was  called  La  Constitution  Civile. 

The  main  articles  of  this  "  civil  constitution  "  may  be 
briefly  stated  :  "  The  number  of  bishoprics  was  to  be  re- 
duced, and  each  diocese  was  to  be  conterminous  with  the 
newly  designated  department  in  which  it  was  situated. 
Bishops  and  clergy  were  also  to  be  elected  in  accordance 
with  certain  democratic  forms  which  were  enumerated.  But 

1  Taken  chiefly  from  an  article  published  in  the  "  National  Re- 
view "  and  reprinted  in  "  Littell's  Living  Age,"  Dec.  8,  1888. 


EXILES  FOR   CONSCIENCE'  SAKE.  349 

these  changes  troubled  the  consciences  of  men  who  held 
themselves  bound  by  their  vows  of  consecration  and  ordina- 
tion to  oppose  all  change.  A  bishop  could  not  canoni- 
cally  abandon  his  see  or  any  part  of  it,  nor  intrude  his 
jurisdiction  into  any  part  of  the  see  of  his  neighbor.  The 
jonly  power  which  could  solve  this  difficulty  was  that  of  the 
Pope,  whose  sanction  was  also  needed  to  enable  a  priest  to 
accept  with  a  clear  conscience  many  other  changes  included 
in  the  constitution  civile,  one  clause  of  which  forbade  a 
bishop  to  apply  in  person  to  the  Pope  for  consecration, 
though  he  was  permitted  to  write  to  him,  not  as  his  spiritual 
superior,  but  only  in  testimony  of  the  unity  of  faith  and  the 
communion  he  was  bound  to  maintain  with  him."  The  eager 
reformers  in  the  Constituent  Assembly  could  not,  however, 
wait  till  this  matter  should  be  submitted  to  the  Pope,  nor  did 
they,  indeed,  desire  his  intervention.  The  oath  required  of 
all  bishops  and  clergy  who  desired  to  retain  their  sees  or 
cures,  and  to  receive  salaries  from  government  for  their  sup- 
port, was  brief,  but  extraordinarily  comprehensive  :  "  I  swear 
to  be  faithful  to  the  nation  and  to  the  laws." 

To  take  such  an  oath,  as  it  were,  on  the  spur  of  the  mo- 
ment and  at  the  bidding  of  the  leaders  of  the  Revolutionary 
party,  was  an  act  very  impulsive  and  very  daring.  The  con- 
stitution of  the  Church  might  indeed  be  settled  by  the  adop- 
tion of  the  constitution  civile ;  but  what  man  who  took  the 
oath  could  know  to  what  he  might  be  binding  himself  while 
the  laws  of  the  country  remained  unsettled,  and  the  new 
constitution  for  France,  to  make  which  the  Constituent 
Assembly  had  been  summoned,  was  yet  unborn?  Most  men 
have  an  objection  to  taking  oaths  when  they  are  uncertain  to 
what  they  commit  themselves.  At  any  moment  an  unfavor- 
able answer  might  arrive  from  the  Holy  Pontiff,  and  the  clergy 
who  had  taken  the  oath  would  then  find  themselves  placed 
in  a  difficult  position.  Thousands  refused  it,  and  threw  up 
their  means  of  livelihood.  The  bishops  almost  unanimously 
declined  to  accept  the  constitution,  and  the  Pope  repudiated 
it.  Then  began  the  proscription  and  persecution,  not  oniy 
of  the  priests  non-assermente's,  but  of  all  who  refused  to  ac- 


350  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

cept  the  offices  of  religion  from  those  forsworn  ecclesiastics, 
whom  they  looked  upon  as  instruments  of  the  devil. 

The  horrors  of  1793  drew  on  apace.  Under  the  Legisla- 
tive Assembly  France  called  itself  a  republic,  but  had  practi- 
cally no  settled  form  of  government.  Priests  were  in  those 
days  the  especial  objects  of  the  fury  of  the  population  of 
Paris,  who  called  themselves  "  the  people,"  and  fear  filled 
the  hearts  of  all  those  who,  in  calmer  times,  would  at  once 
have  put  mob  rule  down.  Priests  were  hunted  to  death 
in  the  streets  and  massacred  in  prisons ;  almost  all  who 
could  get  away  escaped  from  France  through  perils  of  every 
description. 

Not  long  after  came  an  open  declaration  of  atheism  on 
the  part  of  the  new  French  Republic.  To  make  any  open 
profession  of  belief  in  God  was  lese  civisme.  As  one  of  the 
exiled  clergy  writes,  — 

"The  cathedrals  and  parish  churches  were  stripped  of 
their  ornaments,  and  taken  possession  of  by  the  rabble.  .  .  . 
The  statues  of  our  Blessed  Lord  and  of  His  Mother  were 
thrown  down  and  trampled  underfoot,  while  busts  of  the 
most  repulsive  and  blaspheming  Revolutionists  were  elevated 
and  honored  in  their  stead." 

One  Revolutionist  ostentatiously  asserted  that  though  he 
had  lived  the  victim  of  superstition,  he  would  no  longer 
remain  its  slave.  "  I  know,"  he  exclaimed,  "  no  other  wor- 
ship than  that  of  Liberty ;  no  other  religion  than  that  of 
Humanity  and  Country."  Jean  Baptiste  Gobel,  the  apostate 
Bishop  of  Paris,  declared,  "  I  submit  to  the  omnipotent  will 
of  the  People.  There  ought  to  be  no  national  worship  at 
all,  except  that  of  Liberty  and  sacred  Equality,  as  the  sov- 
ereign people  wish  it  to  be.  From  henceforth  therefore  I 
renounce  and  repudiate  the  Christian  Religion." 

As  a  direct  consequence  of  such  blasphemy  and  national 
impiety,  Sunday  was  abolished ;  the  church  bells  were  si- 
lenced ;  children  remained  unbaptized  ;  marriage,  as  a  sacra- 
ment, or  as  a  Christian  rite,  was  abolished  ;  the  sick  received 
no  sacred  consolation,  the  dead  no  religious  rites.  The 
clergy  were  everywhere  abused,  seized,  imprisoned,  put  to 


EXILES  FOR   CONSCIENCE'  SAKE.  351 

death.  Much  that  was  then  done  to  insult  and  to  put  down 
religion  finds  no  place  in  books  of  history.  Private  letters 
from  eye-witnesses  have  described  what  then  took  place. 
No  words,  however,  can  truly  depict  the  horrors  of  that  awful 
Reign  of  Terror.  One  direct  consequence  was  that  during 
the  course  of  six  years,  beginning  in  the  autumn  of  1792, 
no  less  than  eight  thousand  of  the  French  clergy  —  some  at 
one  period,  and  others  later,  including  archbishops,  bishops, 
dignitaries,  parish  priests,  and  ecclesiastical  students  — 
escaped  to  England,  impoverished,  ruined,  starving.  George 
III.  gave  up  to  them  the  old  Royal  Palace  at  Winchester 
(since  burned  to  the  ground),  where  nine  hundred  of  these 
exiled  ecclesiastics  were  housed,  and  provided  with  food, 
clothing,  and  the  common  necessaries  of  life.  On  Michael- 
mas Day  (September  29),  1792,  a  "Committee  of  Relief" 
was  formed  in  London  for  the  whole  country.  Among  the 
noblemen  and  gentlemen  who  gave  it  their  assistance  were 
William  Wilberforce,  the  Marquis  of  Buckingham,  the  Bish- 
ops of  Lqpdon  and  Durham,  Henry  Thornton  of  Clapham, 
and  many  others,  — all  men  of  influence  and  position,  whose 
names  are  known  even  beyond  their  own  country. 

The  appeals  of  the  committee  were  widely  circulated,  and 
monetary  assistance  came  in  at  once,  for  the  exiles,  in  hun- 
dreds of  cases,  owned  nothing  whatsoever  but  the  clothes  in 
which  they  stood,  a  breviary,  a  pair  of  spectacles,  a  skull- 
cap, a  snuff-box,  a  little  money  in  their  purses,  and  a  cloak 
or  a  wrapper.  Before  Christmas,  however,*temporary  relief 
and  food  had  been  provided  for  nearly  four  thousand  more 
of  the  exiled  clergy,  who  landed  in  ports  of  England  on  the 
British  Channel.  In  many  places  the  country  gentry  and 
clergy  of  the  Established  Church  at  once  enlisted  their  neigh- 
bors in  aid  of  the  strangers,  and  with  no  delay  sent  liberal 
benevolences  in  money  for  their  assistance.  Several  country 
houses  in  different  localities  were  offered  to  the  committee 
in  order  to  provide  immediate  shelter  for  those  in  need. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  zeal  and  charity  of  all  the 
members  of  the  committee,  whose  affairs  were  largely  con- 
ducted by  Dr.  Dampier,  a  gentleman  of  French  extraction, 


352  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

afterwards  Bishop  of  Rochester  and  Ely.  Wilberforce  and 
Thornton,  leaders  of  the  evangelical  party,  were  very  active ; 
so  were  Dr.  Walter  King,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Rochester, 
Dr.  Beilby  Porteus,  Bishop  of  London,  and  the  Bishop  of 
Durtiam.  The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  was  thought  some- 
what tardy  in  his  actions,  but  afterwards  gave  good  reasons 
for  delay. 

For  some  months  the  exiles  were  provided  for  by  private 
munificence;  but  on  Sunday,  April  19,  1793,  a  solemn  ser- 
vice for  the  occasion  was  appointed,  sermons  were  preached, 
and  alms  gathered  in  every  church  and  chapel  throughout 
England  and  Wales  by  direct  command  of  his  Majesty. 
This  would  have  taken  place  earlier  had  not  the  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  held  it  to  be  more  discreet  for  the  prelates  of 
the  Established  Church  to  follow  in  this  matter,  rather  than 
seek  to  lead.  Everywhere  the  subscriptions  and  gifts  were 
large  in  number,  and,  considering  the  poverty  then  prevailing 
in  the  country,  they  were  considerable  in  amount. 

Mrs.  Hannah  More,  then  in  the  height  of  her  popularity, 
addressed  a  letter,  touching  in  its  simplicity  and  truth,  to 
"  The  Ladies  of  England,"  which  did  much  good.  Oxford 
and  Cambridge,  the  chapters  of  some  of  the  cathedrals, 
and  the  London  College  of  Physicians,  contributed  very 
considerable  sums. 

Later  on  a  grant  from  government,  personally  suggested 
by  the  king  and  recommended  by  Mr.  Pitt,  was  made,  in 
order  to  house,  Clothe,  and  feed  the  French  exiles.  It  has 
been  calculated  that  from  1793  to  1795  ;£  120,000  was 
expended  on  this  work  from  the  public  exchequer. 

At  the  close  of  1793,  there  were  4,068  priests  receiving 
from  the  English  government  ^"7,830  a  month,  and  this  in 
addition  to  funds  raised  in  churches  or  by  private  benevo- 
lence. The  government  likewise  made  itself  responsible  for 
the  support  of  375  lay  persons  at  the  same  period,  expending 
for  this  object  ^"560  a  month. 

The  exiles,  scattered  through  the  Southern,  Eastern,  and 
Midland  counties  of  England,  were  received  with  kind- 
ness and  favor  by  the  country  gentry,  and  in  many  houses 


EXILES  FOR   CONSCIENCE'  SAKE.  353 

they  were  welcome  guests.  "  I  cannot  forget,"  wrote  the 
Rev.  Thomas  Bowdler,  "  that  these  clergymen  are  men  who 
have  given  up  everything  which  they  possessed,  and  every- 
thing to  which  they  looked  forward  for  their  support  in  this 
world,  rather  than  abandon  their  duty  to  God,  by  taking  an 
oath  which  they  conceived  would  be  perjury." 

Meantime  the  conduct  of  these  exiles  showed,  according 
to  the  same  authority,  "that  they  were  truly  sensible  of  the 
unparalleled  kindness  they  received  in  England,  for  which 
they  could  make  no  return  but  by  their  prayers  and  good 
conduct."  Many  nuns  during  the  year  1795,  who  had 
escaped  from  France  to  Holland,  came  over  to  England, 
where  they  were  welcomed  and  supported. 

Once  or  twice  the  strong  Protestant  feeling  in  England 
was  the  occasion  of  trifling  difficulties,  one  of  which  led  to 
an  investigation  by  the  Committee,  who  commissioned  a 
prebendary  of  Winchester,  Dr.  Henry  Sturges,  to  inquire 
into  the  controversy.  He  did  so,  and  on  March  23,  1796, 
reported  a£  follows  concerning  the  nine  hundred  priests 
lodged  in  the  King's  House  :  "  I  confess  I  have  considered 
their  general  conduct  as  exemplary  in  the  highest  degree. 
I  have  upon  all  occasions,  and  to  all  persons,  given  this  tes- 
timony, that  during  their  continuance  here,  which  is  now 
I  think  above  three  years,  I  have  never  known  any  of 
them  to  be  accused  of  any  behavior  unbecoming,  and  have 
heard  all  of  them  with  whom  I  am  well  acquainted  express 
in  the  strongest  terms  their  gratitude  for  the  protection,  the 
relief,  and  the  humanity  they  have  experienced  from  us." 
During  the  five  or  six  years  that  the  exiles  remained  in 
England  many  of  them  died.  Their  silent  and  patiently 
endured  sufferings,  anxieties,  fears,  and  sorrows  bore  them 
down. 

In  country  churchyards  in  England  may  be  found  many 
of  their  graves,  recording  their  constancy  and  their  virtues  ; 
for  instance,  here  is  an  inscription  in  a  cathedral  church  in 
Oxfordshire,  erected  by  the  warden  of  New  College,  to  the 
memory  of  the  Archdeacon  of  Dol :  — 

23 


354  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

"To  the  memory  of  the  Rev.  Michael  Thoumin  Desvalpon, 
aged  62,  D.D.  and  C.  L.,  Archdeacon  &  Vicar  General  of 
Dol  in  Britany ;  a  Man  conspicuous  for  his  Deep  Knowledge, 
and  his  Moral  Virtues.  Exiled  since  1792  for  his  Religion  and 
his  King;  favourably  received  by  the  English  Nation.  Deceased 
at  Obery,  March  2,  1798,  greatly  indebted  to  the  family  of  Mrs. 
Davey,  £  interred  in  this  Church  at  the  request  &  expense 
of  the  Rev.  D^  Gauntlett,  Warden  of  New  College,  Oxford. 
R.  I.  P." 

A  letter  dated  Oct.  13,  1798,  says:  "Before  those  who 
returned  home  left  the  town  of  Dorchester  in  Oxfordshire, 
they  publicly  thanked  God  in  the  prayers  of  the  Church  of 
England  on  a  day  set  apart,  for  His  mercies  and  blessings 
to  them,  and  acknowledged  the  hospitalities  of  the  English 
people.  The  Vicar  preached  on  the  occasion,  and  a  beauti- 
ful and  touching  sermon  it  was.  The  French  priests  revered 
him  greatly.  He  had  buried  some  of  their  number  in  the 
churchyard,  when  the  services  were  very  solemnly  done ; 
and  they  left  him  memorials  of  their  affection  aflll  respect, 
both  as  a  friend  and  as  the  clergyman  of  the  Parish." 

The  presence  of  these  men  in  various  parts  of  England, 
their  high  bearing,  sound  principles,  and  religious  demeanor, 
tended  largely  to  soften  British  prejudice  against  the  faith  of 
their  forefathers.  The  strong  language  of  the  Edwardian 
"Homilies."  the  Armada,  Guy  Fawkes's  conspiracy,  and  the 
policy  of  James  II.,  all,  more  or  less,  began  to  be  looked 
upon  from  a  somewhat  different  point  of  view,  "  when,"  as 
Sir  Walter  Scott  most  acutely  remarked,  "  so  many  of  the 
British  people  beheld  the  blameless  lives  and  dignified  pa- 
tience of  these  exiled  clergy." 


CHAPTER   II. 

A  CONVENTIONAL   BISHOP.1 

'  I  "HE  best-known  men  of  the  Revolution  are  unsatisfac- 
•*•  tory  for  several  reasons.  The  Girondists  were  unprac- 
tical pedants,  unfit  to  lead  at  a  time  when  men  of  action 
were  imperatively  called  for,  and  they  received  the  reward  of 
their  pedantry  in  the  almost  complete  annihilation  of  their 
party.  Danton,  the  giant,  —  according  to  Carlyle,  the  states- 
man after  the  manner  of  Comte,  —  was  found  wanting  in 
the  critical  moment,  and  perished  before  the  narrower,  but 
sterner  and  more  constant,  fanaticism  of  Robespierre.  Even 
the  "  Incorruptible "  himself  fell  from  an  originally  high 
ideal,  and  allowed  the  guillotine  to  flow  with  the  blood  of 
men  whose  chief  crime  in  his  eyes  was  that  they  were  dan- 
gerous rivals. 

Among  all  these  fanatical,  weak,  vacillating,  or  deliberately 
criminal  men,  there  was  one  who  showed  a  consistent  moral 
purpose;  and  who,  whether  right  or  wrong,  seems  to  have 
believed  what  he  said,  and  to  have  acted  up  to  his  belief,  — 
Henri  Gre"goire,  Bishop  of  Blois.  His  earliest  biographer 
has  said  of  him,  "  that  revolutions  left  him  as  they  found 
him,  —  a  priest  and  a  republican."  We  first  hear  of  him  as 
a  public  man  some  years  before  the  meeting  of  the  States- 
General,  and  he  died  in  the  year  1831,  just  after  the  Revo- 
lution of  July  which  overthrew  the  restored  monarchy.  He 
was  an  author  who  published  several  hundred  works  on 
various  subjects,  as  well  as  a  priest  and  a  statesman.  The 
word  vandalism  was  invented  by  him  a  propos  of  the  de- 
struction of  works  of  art  by  revolutionary  fanatics,  and  his 

1  Abridged  from  an  article  in  the  "Nineteenth  Century."  Re- 
printed in  "Littell's  Living  Age,"  Sept.  23,  1893. 


356  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

innocent  creation  was  solemnly  discussed  in  Germany  by 
learned  patriots,  who  tried  to  elucidate  the  question  how  far 
the  new  word  was  a  true  description  of  the  Vandals. 

When  we  first  hear  of  Gre"goire  he  was  neither  stirring  up 
provinces  to  enthusiasm  for  universal  reform,  nor  exerting 
his  powers  of  oratory  in  the  Palais  Royal ;  he  was  simply 
trying  to 

"  Do  the  good  that 's  nearest 
Tho'  it 's  dull  at  whiles, 
Helping,  when  he  meets  them, 
Lame  dogs  over  stiles." 

He  was  collecting  books  for  his  parishioners,  trying  to  raise 
them  from  that  degrading  depth  of  ignorance  to  which  they 
had  been  reduced,  and  which  was  to  bear  terrible  fruit  not 
long  after. 

Gregoire  had  always  been  a  republican.  He  tells  us  him- 
self that  while  a  curb  in  Lorraine,  before  the  Revolution, 
he  was  a  member  of  a  society  the  object  of  which  was  to 
bring  about  the  annexation  of  that  province  to  Switzerland, 
and  so  to  give  it  the  benefit  of  the  institutions  of  that 
little  republic.  He  also  warmly  espoused  the  cause  of  the 
Jews,  oppressed  by  laws  whose  barbarity  was  equalled  only 
by  their  shortsightedness.  He  wrote  a  pamphlet  in  their 
favor,  and  appealed  to  the  enlightenment  and  common 
sense  of  the  rulers  of  Europe.  Besides  this,  he  was  con- 
nected with  the  Societe  des  Amis  des  Noirs,  founded  to  influ- 
ence public  opinion  on  the  wretched  condition  of  slaves  in 
the  colonies,  and  was  subsequently  the  first  man  in  any 
country  who  proposed  and  carried  a  law  abolishing  negro 
slavery. 

Gregoire  was  sent  up  to  the  States-General  as  a  deputy 
from  the  clergy  of  his  province.  He  co-operated  with  the 
leaders  of  the  Tiers  Etat,  though  he  did  not  identify  himself 
with  them.  For  instance,  he  could  not  understand  a  Declara- 
tion of  Rights  unaccompanied  by  a  declaration  of  duties ; 
and  he  early  saw  that  the  more  hot-headed  members  of  the 
liberal  party  were  proceeding  in  a  way  which  was  likely  to 
overthrow  society  itself. 


GREGOIRE,  BISHOP   OF  BLOIS. 


A    CONVENTIONAL  BISHOP.  357 

Then  came  the  confiscation  of  church  property*,  which  was 
to  assist  in  paying  the  enormous  debt  that  was  crushing 
France.  This  measure  was  supported  by  Gregoire.  Then 
came  the  proposal  to  remodel  the  whole  constitution  of  the 
clergy  in  France. 

We  have  already  seen  that  the  bishops  almost  unanimously 
refused  the  oath  to  the  Constitution  Civile,  and  that  the  Pope 
repudiated  it.  Before  this,  however,  Gre'goire  in  his  place 
as  a  deputy  had  pronounced  in  favor  of  it.  He  seems  to  have 
seen  in  it  the  remedy  for  crying  evils,  a  means  for  averting 
the  overthrow  of  religious  institutions ;  to  have  thought  that 
the  Holy  Father  would  not  fail  to  give  it  his  sanction,  and 
under  the  circumstances  he  accepted  the  Constitution. 

"  I  swear,"  he  said  solemnly,  speaking  from  the  tribune, 
"to  be  faithful  to  the  nation  and  the  laws."  ("Whatever 
laws  you  may  make  "  being  implied.) 

Most  of  the  sees  being  abandoned,  new  bishops  had  to 
be  appointed,  and  Gre'goire  was  offered  the  bishopric  of 
Blois.  He  refused  at  first,  but  was  finally  persuaded  to 
accept  it,  to  avoid  the  bad  impression  that  might  result  from 
the  refusal  of  one  who  had  voted  for  the  new  constitutional 
system.  His  new  position  involved  him  in  many  difficulties, 
for  it  made  it  his  duty,  as  bishop  under  the  Constitution,  to 
force  on  his  diocese  as  far  as  possible  pretres  assermentes,  con- 
trary to  the  wishes  and  the  consciences  of  those  over  whom 
they  were  appointed  to  serve.  A  great  number  of  these  clergy 
were  men  for  whom  their  bishop  could  have  neither  sym- 
pathy nor  respect.  They  were  unscrupulous  time-serving 
men,  and  many  of  them  married.  As  a  republican,  Gregoire 
must  have  felt  the  system  of  episcopal  tyranny  to  which  he 
was  committed  revolting  to  him. 

After  the  flight  to  Varennes,  Gre'goire  objected  to  restor- 
ing the  king,  on  condition  of  his  accepting  the  Constitution. 
"  He  will  swear,  but  will  not  keep  his  oath,"  he  said.  And 
his  prediction  was  fulfilled  a  year  later. 

It  was  Gre'goire  who,  after  the  events  of  the  icth  of  August, 
demanded  the  abolition  of  royalty.  He  approved  the  trial 
of  Louis,  but  as  a  preliminary  proposed  the  abolition  of  the 


358  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

punishment  of  death,  hoping  that  the  ex-king  might  have  the 
benefit  of  the  law.  He  was  not  present  when  the  vote  was 
taken  as  to  the  king's  death,  but  with  four  others  he  signed 
a  paper  approving  his  condemnation,  though,  before  signing 
it,  he  scratched  out  the  words  a  mart.  All  his  life  after  he 
defended  himself  from  the  charge  of  having  been  a  regicide, 
insisting  that  he  had  never  voted  for  the  death  of  any  man. 

Gregoire  took  no  share  in  the  works  and  ways  of  the  Com- 
mittee of  Public  Safety,  but  he  was  a  member  of  the  Com- 
mittee of  Public  Instruction,  which  among  other  things  created 
the  Conservatoire  des  Arts  et  Me'tiers,  the  Bureau  des 
Longitudes,  and  the  Ecole  Polytechnique.  By  it  also  the 
study  of  music  was  organized  ;  the  deaf  and  blind  received 
instruction ;  a  school  of  medicine  was  founded ;  and  unifor- 
mity of  weights  and  measures  was  decreed.  The  absurd 
new  calendar  was  also  its  work,  but  not  with  the  consent  of 
Gregoire,  who  opposed  Romme's  substitution  of  Decadi  for 
Sunday. 

While  this  practical  work  was  being  carried  on  in  Gregoire's 
committee,  and  while  another  committee  was  building  up  the 
great  code  of  law  which  still  influences  the  legal  system  of 
half  the  countries  of  Europe,  under  the  misleading  name 
of  the  Code  Napoleon,  the  Convention  was  engaged  in  all 
the  wicked,  wild,  and  wayward  acts  which  we  associate  with 
what  we  call  the  Reign  of  Terror.  It  had  also  to  contend 
with  the  Commune  ;  that  is,  the  City  Government  at  the  Hotel 
de  Ville,  which  had  control  over  a  gigantic  organization  of 
the  secret  societies  and  sections,  and  was  a  formidable  rival 
to  the  Convention  and  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety. 
From  the  establishment  of  the  Republic  to  the  death  of 
He'bert,  the  Commune  was  a  continual  threat  to  the  existing 
government.  It  overthrew  the  Girondins  when  they  were 
masters  of  a  majority  in  the  Assembly,  and  Robespierre  him- 
self was  only  able  to  crush  it  by  a  temporary  alliance  with 
Danton.  The  history  of  Gregoire  is  mainly  allied  with  one 
aspect  of  this  struggle.  Hebert  and  Chaumette,  the  leaders 
of  the  Commune,  were  avowed  atheists.  The  Convention 
was  inclined  to  religious  toleration,  but  the  leaders  of  the 


A    CONVENTIONAL  BISHOP.  359 

Commune  were  fanatical  in  their  hatred  of  all  religion.  For 
a  time  they  got  the  upper  hand ;  and  the  churches  in  Paris 
and  in  some  of  the  provinces  were  profaned  by  the  dis- 
graceful and  puerile  scenes  known  as  Feasts  of  Reason. 
Many  constitutional  priests  and  Protestant  ministers  were 
carried  away  by  the  movement,  and  renounced  their  faith. 
A  mummery,  which  would  be  laughable,  if  it  were  not  so 
painful,  was  gone  through  in  the  Convention,  where  Gobel, 
the  Archbishop  of  Paris,  and  his  chaplains  publicly  divested 
themselves  of  their  robes  of  office,  and  apologized  for  their 
errors  against  the  pure  light  of  "  Reason." 

Shortly  after  this  Gregoire  came  into  the  Chamber.  He 
was  greeted  with  loud  cries  and  told  to  go  to  the  tribune. 
"  What  for  ?  "  he  asked.  "  To  renounce  your  religious  charla- 
tanism." "  Miserable  blasphemers  !  I  was  never  a  charlatan. 
Attached  to  my  religion,  I  have  preached  its  tjuths,  and  I 
will  always  be  faithful  to  them." 

With  these  words  he  ascended  the  tribune. 

"  I  am  here,"  he  said,  "  having  a  very  vague  notion  of 
what  has  happened  in  my  absence.  People  speak  to 
me  of  sacrifices  for  my  country.  I  am  accustomed  to 
make  them.  Is  it  a  question  of  attachment  to  the 
cause  of  liberty?  I  have  already  given  proof  of  it.  Is  it 
a  question  of  the  revenue  joined  to  my  office  of  bishop? 
I  abandon  it  to  you  without  regret.  Is  it  a  question  of 
religion?  This  matter  is  outside  your  jurisdiction,  and  you 
have  no  right  to  approach  it.  I  hear  some  one  speak  of 
fanaticism  or  superstition.  ...  I  have  always  opposed 
them.  ...  As  for  me,  Catholic  by  conviction,  priest  by 
choice,  I  have  been  called  by  the  people  to  be  a  bishop ;  I 
have  tried  to  do  some  good  in  my  diocese,  acting  on  the 
sacred  principles  which  are  dear  to  me,  and  which  I  defy 
you  to  take  from  me.  I  remain  a  bishop  to  do  some  more 
good.  I  appeal  to  the  principle  of  liberty  of  worship." 

Gre'goire's  firmness  on  this  occasion  drew  down  on  him 
the  filthy  abuse  of  the  atheistical  party.  His  attitude  entirely 
destroyed  the  effect  of  the  apostasy  of  the  weak  and  timid 
Gobel  and  his  friends,  who  sank  into  insignificance  before  the 


360  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

noble  resolution  of  the  Bishop  of  Blois.1  In  the  worst  of 
times,  when  even  conventional  priests  hardly  dared  to  appear 
in  the  streets  in  lay  dress,  Gre'goire  continued  publicly  to  wear 
the  clerical  habit,  and  he  even  presided  over  the  Convention, 
when  it  came  to  be  his  turn,  in  episcopal  costume.  Heaven 
and  earth  were  moved  to  get  him  to  abjure,  but  he  stood  firm. 
He  was  flattered,  he  was  threatened ;  but  he  was  unmoved. 

No  class  of  people  heaped  more  abuse  on  him  than  the 
priests  who,  for  conscience'  sake,  had  been  unable  to  take 
the  oath  that  he  had  taken.  He  returned  good  for  evil,  and 
boldly  advocated  the  cause  of  religious  liberty.  By  his  per- 
sonal efforts,  at  a  time  when  men  were  willing  to  suspect  him 
on  the  least  opportunity,  he  obtained  the  freedom  of  some 
non-juring  priests,  who  were  herded  together  in  confinement 
at  Rochefort,  and  were  becoming  decimated  by  disease 
brought  on  fey  the  unhealthy  conditions  of  their  prison.  Gre'- 
goire got  no  thanks  for  this ;  he  did  not  ask  for  them.  He 
had  done  his  duty,  and  that  was  enough. 

The  Revolution  drew  to  a  close.  The  Directory  was  no 
doubt  an  attempt  at  a  republican  dictatorship,  but  the  idea 
which  it  represented  was  for  the  moment  out  of  place.  The 
nation  only  waited  for  the  coming  of  a  master,  and  it  had 
not  to  wait  long. 

Under  the  Directory  Gregoire  withdrew  to  his  diocese. 
He  busied  himself  in  its  administration  and  in  literary  work, 
and  did  not  re-enter  public  life  until  the  Consulate  was  estab- 
lished, when  he  became  a  senator  under  the  ne\v  r'egime.  In 
this  position  he  constantly  opposed  every  advance  of  Napo- 
leon. Sometimes  he  was  supported  by  other  republicans  ; 
sometimes  he  stood  alone.  On  the  question  of  giving  Napo- 
leon the  hereditary  title  of  emperor,  Gregoire  voted  in  oppo- 
sition, with  only  four  others,  and  his  was  the  one  black  ball 
that  opposed  the  establishment  of  the  new  nobility. 

He  disapproved  the  Concordat  signed  by  the  Pope  and 
Napoleon  ;  but  when  it  was  signed  he  submitted  to  it.  He 
refused,  however,  to  make  the  declaration  imposed  on  con- 
stitutional bishops  as  a  condition  of  their  retaining  their  sees. 

1  See  page  64. 


A    CONVENTIONAL  BISHOP.  361 

He  resigned  his  bishopric  of  Blois,  and  wrote  a  farewell  letter 
to  the  faithful  in  his  diocese,  exhorting  them  to  obey  in  all 
things  their  new  ecclesiastical  superior. 

He  was  a  consistent  opponent  of  Napoleon's  government, 
but  was  left  unmolested  in  his  retirement,  though  pursued  by 
calumny  from  the  most  opposite  quarters.  Under  the  Bour- 
bons his  case  was  worse.  The  returned  emigres  called  him 
an  "  apostate,"  and  men  who  had  been  republicans  while  re- 
publicanism was  the  order  of  the  day  hated  a  man  whose 
life  was  a  continual  protest  against  their  own  inconsistency. 

Gregoire  became  old  and  feeble,  but  he  lived  until  his 
heart  was  once  more  gladdened  for  a  moment  by  the  revolu- 
tion of  1830.  He  warned  his  fellow-countrymen,  however, 
against  the  re-establishment  of  monarchy.  This  was  the  last 
public  act  of  his  life. 

On  his  death  bed  he  sent  for  his  parish  priest.'  The  priest 
communicated  with  the  archbishop,  who  wrote  to  Gregoire 
exhorting  him  to  make  a  retraction,  and  told  the  priest  to 
exact  it  before  giving  him  the  last  sacraments.  Gregoire  re- 
fused, on  the  ground  that  he  had  nothing  which  his  conscience 
compelled  him  to  retract.  The  priest  left  him ;  and  he  was 
finally  driven  to  seek  the  assistance  of  a  priest  who  had  al- 
ways been  opposed  to  him,  but  in  whose  Christian  charity  he 
felt  he  could  confide.  He  made  his  confession,  received  the 
last  offices  of  the  Church,  and  prepared  to  meet  his  Creator. 
He  died  on  the  28th  of  May,  1831,  at  the  age  of  eighty-one. 
In  his  will  it  was  found  that  he  had  left  four  thousand  francs 
to  found  an  annual  mass  for  his  calumniators  and  enemies, 
dead  or  living. 

He  died  as  he  had  lived,  a  Catholic  and  a  republican.  He 
had  his  faults.  Some  of  his  speeches  breathe  a  tone  of  fa- 
natical republicanism,  unsuited  to  our  more  mature  and  scien- 
tific point  of  view.  But  in  this  he  was  the  child  of  his  period. 
If  sometimes  he  was  carried  away  by  the  swift  stream  of  revo- 
lutionary opinion,  there  were  moments  when  he  rose  to  an 
almost  superhuman  height,  as  when  he  stood  alone  in  the 
tribune  of  the  National  Convention  and  fearlessly  confessed 
Almighty  God. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A    PROTESTANT    PASTOR.1 

TEAN  PAUL  RABAUT,  called  Saint- Etienne,  was  born  in 
J  1743,  the  eldest  son  of  the  "Desert  Pastor,"  Paul 
Rabaut,  almost  the  last  survivor  of  the  heroic  age  of  Hugue- 
notism.  The  "  Desert "  was  the  wild  region  of  Languedoc 
and  the  Cevennes,  where  Huguenotism  lingered  after  it  had 
been  crushed  out  of  the  towns.  Every  pastor  adopted  for 
safety  a  nom  de  Desert  \  an  alias,  by  which  he  was  known 
among  the  faithful.  Paul  Rabaut  had  at*  least  a  dozen 
"desert  names"  of  his  own,  and  had  given  to  his  three  sons 
in  their  childhood  those  of  Saint-Etienne,  Pommier,  and 
Dupuis.  To  call  them  by  their  father's  name  would  have 
been  to  expose  them  as  a  prey  to  the  pious  kidnappers, 
to  whom  the  law  afforded  every  facility  for  taking  a  child 
out  of  the  control  of  Huguenot  parents.  In  1743,  it  was 
more  than  a  half  a  century  since  Louis  XIV.  had  turned  his 
"booted  apostles"  loose  upon  the  Huguenots;  but  the 
persecution,  though  not  in  its  first  heat,  was  still  far  from 
being  over.  Paul  Rabaut  was  a  fugitive,  hiding  in  caves 
and  thickets ;  attempts  were  made  to  seize  his  wife  as  a 
hostage,  and  during  a  hasty  flight  her  child  was  born  in  a 
barn  or  stable.  Throughout  his  childhood  Jean  Paul  never 
knew  till  supper-time  where  he  would  sleep ;  his  father 
regulated  the  march,  and  the  children  were  lodged  with  the 
faithful  in  turn.  At  the  age  of  eleven  he  was  awaked  one 
morning  by  a  troop  of  grenadiers  demanding  entrance  to  a 
house  where  his  mother  had  taken  refuge.  The  next  year 
we  find  him  safe  in  Geneva,  boarding  with  a  refugee  pastor, 
and  later  on  transferred  to  the  Lausanne  College  which 
1  "  Gentleman's  Magazine,"  1890. 


JEAN  PAUL  RABAUT, 


A   PROTESTANT  PASTOR.  363 

Antoine  Court,  the  "Restorer  of  the  Huguenot  Church," 
had  founded  for  training  Desert  pastors.  Jean  Paul's  incli- 
nation seems  to  have  been  towards  the  bar,  but  as  the 
professions  in  France  were  closed  to  Huguenots,  he  resigned 
himself  to  entering  the  ministry.  At  the  age  of  nineteen  he 
returned  to  France  as  a  proposant ;  that  is,  a  probationary 
minister.  On  crossing  the  border  he  was  met  by  the 
news  of  the  capture  and  hanging  of  the  pastor  Rochette, 
1762,  and  with  a  request  that  he  would  preach  his  funeral 
sermon. 

"If  we  knew  Rabaut  Saint-Etienne's  early  life, '"says  his 
friend  Boissy  d'Anglas,  "  we  should  find  it  as  full  of  perils 
and  heroism  as  that  of  any  Catholic  priest  under  the  Terror ; " 
the  records  that  have  come  down  to  us  are  of  more  peaceful 
days.  For  even  then  the  tide  was  turning.  The  "  affaire 
Galas  "  (only  a  month  later  than  that  of  Rochette)  enlisted 
Voltaire's  advocacy ; l  and  Voltaire  ruled  the  public  mind 
in  France.  By  steps  too  many  to  relate,  the  Protestants  of 
France,  like  the  Roman  Catholics  of  England,  reached  the 
stage  of  tacit  toleration.  Their  wrongs,  as  represented  in  a 
play  acted  in  1767  before  the  king,  drew  tears  from  a  court 
audience.  Their  meetings  for  worship  in  the  stone  quarries 
at  Nimes,  where  they  sat  under  sunshades  and  on  camp- 
stools,  were  winked  at  by  the  military  authorities,  their  peti- 
tions to  provincial  governors  and  parliaments  were  actually 
read,  and  men  in  high  places  intimated  that  it  was  time  to 
act  on  them. 

Meantime  Rabaut  Saint-Etienne,  rejoicing  in  the  new  turn 
things  were  taking  in  1768,  made  a  love-match,  and  devel- 
oped into  a  preacher  of  local  fame,  whose  sermons  on  the 
marriage  and  coronation  of  Louis  XVI.  were  commended 
even  by  Catholics,  and  whom  the  Duke  of  Gloucester, 
brother  of  George  III.,  when  passing  through  Languedoc, 
came  in  state  to  hear.  Rabaut  about  this  time  drew  up  a 
petition  for  the  Huguenot  galley-slaves,  and  subsequently 

1  For  a  history  of  the  "affaire  Galas,"  the  dreadful  prosecution 
of  a  respectable  Protestant  tradesman  and  his  family  for  an  imaginary 
crime,  see  an  article,  republished  in  "  Littell's  Living  Age,"  Vol.  59. 


364  THE   FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

published  a  sort  of  autobiographical   novel  in  London,  on 
the  trials  of  a  pastor  in  the  Cevennes. 

Next  Rabaut  wrote  a  pamphlet  called  "  Homage  to  the 
Memory  of  the  late  Bishop  of  Nimes,"  saying  in  its  introduc- 
tion that  "  it  is  lawful  to  praise  those  when  dead  whom  we 
would  not  have  praised  when  living." 

The  tolerance  and  moderation  of  a  Huguenot  of  that  age 
(of  which  Rabaut  furnished  twenty  examples)  are  the  more  to 
be  admired  when  we  consider  what  was  still  his  legal 
position,  —  illegitimated,  excluded  from  the  professions,  and 
in  strict  law  liable  to  death  on  the  gallows. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  in  France  when  Lafayette, 
fresh  from  America,  and  with  his  head  full  of  liberty  and 
equal  justice,  visited  Nimes,  and  introduced  himself  to  the 
Rabaut  household.  "  The  hero  of  two  worlds  pressed  in 
his  arms  the  venerable  Desert  pastor,"  and  urged  the  pas- 
tor's eldest  son  to  come  to  Paris,  and  plead  the  Protestant 
cause  with  the  king's  new  ministers.  Rabaut  Saint-Etienne 
responded  eagerly ;  his  flock  subscribed  to  pay  for  his 
journey,  —  not  without  qualms  as  to  the  dangers  of  lettres  de 
cachet  and  kidnappers  on  the  road,  —  but  the  Paris  world 
gave  a  warm  reception  to  the  protigj  of  its  hero.  Counts 
and  marquises  were  amazed  to  find  in  this  "  child  of  the 
Desert  "  a  civilized  man,  with  powdered  hair  and  a  starched 
neckcloth,  a  classical  scholar,  a  philosopher,  well  read  in  the 
works  of  the  Encyclopedists,  and  of  Gibbon  and  Bacon,  and 
even  an  elegant  poet  who  turned  odes  easily,  and  had  on  hand, 
it  was  whispered,  an  epic  poem  on  Charles  Martel.  The 
cause  he  advocated  was  enthusiastically  adopted.  Ministers, 
academicians,  and  even  a  bishop  showed  themselves  well-dis- 
posed to  the  Protestants,  and  in  the  autumn  of  1787  an  edict 
was  passed,  granting  to  "  non-Catholics  "  the  right  to  live  in 
France,  and  there  exercise  a  profession  or  trade,  to  contract 
civil  marriages,  and  register  their  births  and  burials.  The 
king  proposed  the  measure,  and  after  some  opposition  the 
Parliament  of  Paris  registered  it.  "  You  will  easily  judge," 
wrote  Lafayette  to  Washington,  "  with  what  pleasure  I  pre- 
sented last  Sunday  at  a  ministerial  table  the  first  Protestant 


A  PROTESTANT  PASTOR.  365 

ecclesiastic  who  has  been  seen  at  Versailles  since  the  Revo- 
cation of  1685." 

The  Protestants,  with  joyful  and  grateful  hearts,  flocked  to 
insure  their  legal  status;  in  some  cases  old  men  came  to 
register  the  births  of  three  generations,  —  father,  child,  and 
grandchild.  These  boons  were  granted  to  Protestants 
under  the  old  regime,  and  there  is  no  knowing,  say  some,, 
what  further  reforms  the  king  might  have  made  if  his  subjects 
would  have  left  him  free  to  make  them. 

Rabaut  adorned  his  room  with  a  portrait  of  Lafayette, 
inscribed  in  large  gold  letters,  "My  Hero,"  and  returned 
to  Languedoc  (March,  1788)  to  preach  a  sermon  on  "Ren- 
der unto  Caesar,  etc.,"  which  was  remembered  by  hearers 
who  were  living  in  1850.  He  was  now  the  greatest  man  in 
Nimes,  and  that  not  only  with  his  own  flock.  He  had 
made  a  name  among  the  savants  ;  his  new  book,  on  primitive 
Greek  history,  had  been  commended  by  the  learned  Bailly, 
and  he  had  also  added  one  to  the  twenty-five  hundred  and 
odd  pamphlets  in  circulation,  concerning  the  coming  States- 
General.  The  Tiers  Etat  of  Nimes  elected  him  first  of  its 
eight  deputies  to  that  Assembly ;  from  that  day  his  clerical 
life  was  over,  and  his  political  life  began. 

Rabaut  took  part  in  drawing  up  the  Declaration  of 
Rights,  —  so  soon  to  be  set  at  nought  in  every  particular. 
Mainly  by  his  influence  liberty  of  worship  was  made  an 
especial  clause  in  the  Declaration.  Only  civil  rights  had 
been  granted  to  non-Catholics  before.  The  Protestants  of 
Paris,  who  had  hitherto  met  in  a  wine-merchant's  parlor,1 
now  removed  to  the  church  of  St.  Louis  of  the  Louvre,  and 
all  the  town  marvelled  to  see  heretics  walk  unmolested  to 
their  preche,  at  a  time  when  priests  who  had  not  taken  the 
oath  (papistes  they  were  called  in  the  language  of  the  day) 
could  not  appear  in  the  streets  without  danger  and  insult. 

In  March,  1 790,  Rabaut  was  chosen  President  of  the  As- 
sembly for  one  fortnight,  as  was  the  custom.  "  How  this 

1  See  "  The  Dean  of  Killerine,"  a  novel  by  the  Abbe  Prevost 
(1735),  translated  by  me,  and  republished  in  "LittelTs  Living  Age," 
1894.  — E.  W.  L. 


366  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

would  astonish  Louis  XIV.  ! "  he  said,  when  acknowledging 
the  honor ;  and  to  his  father  he  wrote  :  "  The  President  of 
the  National  Assembly  is  at  your  feet." 

We  pass  over  events  already  touched  upon  in  1790,  1791, 
and  early  in  1792.  In  the  closing  months  of  that  year  all 
lesser  matters  were  swallowed  up  in  the  great  question 
whether  the  king  should  or  should  not  be  brought  to  trial 
before  the  Convention ;  and  against  this,  Rabaut  set  him- 
self far  too  strongly  for  prudence.  His  most  celebrated 
speech  —  and  that  which  ruined  him  — was  made  in  a  vain 
endeavor  to  avert  the  trial,  or  at  least  to  have  it  conducted 
with  legal  forms  and  before  a  properly  appointed  tribunal. 
He  spoke  thus  on  the  subject  in  the  Assembly  :  — 

"  You  say  that  it  is  no  new  thing  for  you  to  pronounce 
judgment.  I  reply  that  that  is  just  what  I  complain  of.  I, 
for  one,  am  sick  of  my  share  of  despotism.  I  am  fatigued, 
harassed,  tormented  by  the  despotism  in  which  I  take 
part ;  and  I  sigh  for  the  moment  when  a  national  tribunal 
shall  relieve  me  of  the  form  and  countenance  of  a  tyrant. 
\_Murmurs. ,]  .  .  .  History  blames  the  English,  not  that  they 
judged  their  king,  but  that  the  Commons,  secretly  pushed 
forward  by  Cromwell  [Redoubled  murmurs,  for  every  one 
knew  that  the  Cromwell  pointed  at  was  Robespierre.^  had 
usurped  the  right  of  judging ;  that  they  set  at  nought  the 
legal  forms ;  that  they  declared  themselves  exponents  of 
the  will  of  a  people  whom  they  had  never  consulted.  And 
this  very  people  —  the  people  of  London  —  who  were  said 
to  have  so  pressed  for  the  death  of  the  king  were  the  first 
to  curse  his  judges  and  to  bow  before  his  successor.  The 
City  of  London  feasted  the  restored  Charles  II. ;  the  people 
displayed  riotous  joy  and  crowded  round  the  scaffolds  of 
these  very  judges  sacrificed  by  Charles  to  the  shade  of  his 
father.  People  of  Paris,  Parliament  of  France,  have  you 
understood  me?  ... 

"  Louis  dead  will  be  more  dangerous  than  Louis  living," 
he  urged  for  the  last  time,  after  giving  his  vote  for  the  mild 
sentence  of:  "Detention,  during  the  war,  and  banishment 
afterwards."  "  I  would  fain  see  my  countrymen  not  savage 


A  PROTESTANT  PASTOR.  367 

tigers,  but  disdainful  lions !  "  He  had  tried  to  enlist  his 
friends  on  the  side  of  mercy,  but  it  would  appear  with  small 
success,  since  he  could  not  persuade  his  own  brother  to 
anything  more  decided  than:  "Death  with  respite,"  —  a 
miserable  subterfuge.  Out  of  seven  Protestant  pastors  in 
the  Assembly  four  were  regicides,  and  but  one  voted  with 
Rabaut. 

Rabaut's  fortunes  were  now  past  mending.  His  efforts  to 
save  the  king  had  cost  him  his  place  en  the  "  Moniteur,"  and 
that  paper  was  anxious  to  disclaim  all  connection  with  one 
who,  as  Camille  Desmoulins  asserted,  had  been  "  charged  to 
poison  public  opinion." 

The  tragedy  of  the  Girondins  was  now  beginning,  and 
Rabaut  had  to  play  his  part  as  one  of  the  fated  victims.  It 
was  remembered  that  he  had  been  the  protege  of  Lafayette,  — 
Lafayette,  who  was  now  outlawed  and  a  fugitive,  —  that  he 
was  friendly  to  the  equally  abhorred  Bailly,  that  he  had 
been  "  a  creature  of  Roland,"  and  (even  this  is  gravely  noted 
in  Robespierre's  papers)  that  in  old  days  at  Nimes,  he  had 
got  up  a  subscription  for  a  book  by  one  Rousin,  who  had 
lately  come  out  with  a  drama  of  Fayettist  tendencies.  Jaco- 
bin orators,  once  so  ready  to  play  off  Protestant  against 
Catholic,  now  contemptuously  hinted  that  one  kind  of  priest 
was  as  bad  as  another.  But  the  crowning  sin  charged  upon 
poor  Rabaut  was  that  of  making  faces,  with  set  purpose  to 
put  Robespierre  out  of  countenance  during  one  of  his 
best  speeches. 

Rabaut's  fall  dates  actually  from  May  18,  1793,  the  be- 
ginning of  a  week  of  riot  and  confusion  in  the  Assembly. 
Rabaut  was  chairman  of  a  Committee  of  Twelve  charged  to 
make  up  a  report  on  the  situation.  This  report  he  presented 
on  the  last  day  of  May,  but  as  it  was  understood  that  it  would 
demand  the  expulsion  of  certain  deputies  in  the  Assembly, 
and  recommend,  in  short,  a  purgation  pridienne  —  that  is, 
Pride's  Purge  —  of  the  Assembly,  he  was  never  suffered  to 
read  it.  Rabaut,  with  five  of  his  colleagues,  had  spent  the  pre- 
vious night,  two  in  a  bed,  in  a  house  in  an  obscure  faubourg, 
with  doors  barred  and  pistols  and  swords  in  readiness,  in  case 


368  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION, 

of  attack.  At  three  in  the  morning  they  were  roused  by  the 
tocsin  calling  out  the  Sections.  We  should  like  to  believe 
the  story  that  Rabaut,  once  more  acting  in  his  old  capacity 
as  pastor,  knelt  and  prayed  aloud  for  France  and  for  the 
party  of  law  and  order,  and  by  his  Christian  confidence  kept 
up  the  hearts  of  his  more  skeptical  companions ;  but  for 
want  of  contemporary  evidence,  we  fear  we  must  set  down 
the  story  as  one  of  Lamartine's  little  embellishments. 

After  persistent  but  yain  efforts  to  read  his  report  the  next 
day  to  the  Assembly,  Rabaut  shouted  :  "  You  refuse  to  hear 
it,  because  you  know  it  would  accuse  you."  At  this  there 
arose  "  an  indescribable  tumult,"  in  the  midst  of  which  a 
kindly  doorkeeper  helped  Rabaut  to  slip  out,  and  the  rest 
of  the  Girondins  seem  to  have  followed  his  example. 

On  June  2,  Rabaut  and  twenty  of  his  Girondin  colleagues 
were  dining  with  the  deputy  Meillan,  who  went  to  and  fro, 
keeping  them  informed  of  what  was  taking  place  in  Paris, 
when  Rabaut's  brother,  Pommier,  rushed  in,  crying  :  "  Sauve 
qui  pent !  Sauve  qui  peut !"  The  danger  was  imminent; 
the  Girondins  embraced  each  other,  and  did  as  he  advised. 

Rabaut,  having  secured  his  papers,  sought  refuge  in  the 
house  of  Miss  Helen  Maria  Williams,  and  there  gave  him- 
self up  to  despair,  less  for  the  almost  certain  loss  of  his  own 
life  than  for  that  of  his  country's  liberty.  His  name  appeared 
on  the  list  of  deputies  "  who  could  not  be  placed  under 
arrest  as  not  being  in  their  domicile."  And  he  was  de- 
nounced as  "  that  tartuffe  Rabaut." 

From  the  house  of  Miss  Williams,  Rabaut  went  to  that  of 
a  Nimes  Protestant  at  Versailles.  Thence  he  contrived  to 
send  his  rejected  report  to  Nimes,  where  it  was  printed,  to 
the  intense  indignation  of  the  Assembly  which  it  accused. 
A  southern  "  Federation  of  seventy-three  respectable  cities  " 
was  formed  in  the  south  of  France  to  oppose  the  domination 
of  the  capital,  and  an  enthusiastic  reception  was  given  to 
Rabaut ;  but  the  next  day  the  Sectional  Assembly  at  Nimes 
retracted  all  its  measures,  and  declared  itself  "  no  longer  in 
a  state  of  resistance  to  oppression." 

Rabaut's  supporters  fled  to  Switzerland,  and  he  himself  got 


A   PROTESTANT  PASTOR.  369 

back  to  Paris ;  there  a  Catholic  from  Nimes,  M.  Etienne 
Peyssac,  or  De  Peyssac,  a  clerk  in  the  government  service, 
remembering  old  obligations  to  Rabaut  pere,  received  into 
his  house  the  persecuted  man  and  his  brother.  Here  the 
two  walled  off  with  their  own  hands  the  end  of  their  host's 
bedroom  for  a  secret  chamber,  employing  a  skilled  carpenter 
to  make  the  door,  which  was  concealed  by  a  book-case  placed 
against  it,  and  here  they  lay  concealed  over  four  months, 
letting  their  beards  grow,  and  employing  themselves  in  writ- 
ing historical  letters  in  continuation  of  their  "  Pieces  de  la 
Revolution." 

Meantime  the  trial  of  the  Girondins  took  place.  The  ac- 
cused were,  of  course,  all  found  guilty,  and  the  twenty-one 
who  were  actually  in  the  hands  of  the  Revolutionary  Tribu- 
nal were  duly  sent  to  the  guillotine. 

All  through  November,  1793,  while  the  guillotine  was  hard 
at  work  shearing  off  heads  (Philippe  Egalite's  and  Madame 
Roland's  amongst  others),  it  was  the  fashion  for  apostate 
Catholic  priests  publicly  to  embrace  apostate  Protestant  pas- 
tors, and  Protestant  chalices  lay  heaped  with  Catholic  pyxes 
and  monstrances  before  the  altar  of  the  Goddess  of  Reason, 
ready  for  the  melting  pot.  Many  thought  that  had  Rabaut 
been  at  large  during  those  days  of  grotesque  horror,  while  he 
lay  safe  in  his  hiding-place,  Bishop  Gregoire  would  not  have 
stood  alone  in  his  courageous  protest  against  apostasy. 

The  tide  of  godless  fanaticism  was  just  beginning  to  turn, 
and  Robespierre,  through  jealousy  of  Hebert,  was  appearing 
almost  as  the  champion  of  a  religious  revival,  when  the 
end  to  Rabaut  came.  On  Dec.  4,  1793,  Amar,  who  had 
acted  as  public  accuser  in  the  trial  of  the  Girondins,  an- 
nounced to  the  Assembly  the  capture  of  the  two  Protestant 
brothers. 

Who  betrayed  their  hiding-place?  It  was  never  surely 
known.  Some  said  a  maidservant ;  some  said  the  carpenter 
who  had  made  their  door,  either  through  inadvertence  or 
through  fear.  One  story  says  that,  having  had  a  job  given 
him  by  De  Peyssac  in  the  Chamber  of  the  Committee  of 
Public  Safety,  he  overheard  such  threats  against  the  pro- 

24 


3/0  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

scribed  and  those  who  concealed  them,  that  for  his  own 
safety's  sake  he  gave  information.  Another  account  says 
that  Fabre  d'Eglantine,  "powerful,  but  trembling,"  thought 
it  might  be  well  to  have  a  secret  chamber  ready  for  himself 
in  case  of  a  reverse  of  fortune,  and  sounded  the  carpenter, 
the  best  of  his  trade  in  Paris.  The  man  understood  at  once 
what  he  wanted.  "  Oh,  yes,  citizen  !  I  made  a  place  like 
that  at  the  Citizen  Peyssac's,  that  I  defy  any  one  to  find  out." 
Fabre,  says  the  story,  went  straight  and  gave  information  to 
the  Committee  of  Public  Safety. 

Another  version  tells  us  that  the  capture  was  due  to  A  mar 
himself.  He  had  been  an  old  friend  of  Rabaut's,  and  meet- 
ing Madame  Rabaut  in  the  street,  pressed  her  to  urge  her 
husband  to  take  refuge  in  his  house.  The  Rabauts  were 
glad  to  relieve  Peyssac  and  his  family  of  charge  and  danger ; 
an  hour  of  the  night  was  appointed  for  the  removal ;  Amar 
entered  the  house  of  Peyssac  at  the  head  of  a  party  of 
guards,  and  the  brothers  were  arrested. 

Rabaut  was  an  outlaw  hors  la  lot,  and  no  trial  was  needed. 

There  was,  of  course,  no  mercy  for  a  man  who  had  in- 
curred the  personal  hatred  of  Robespierre  ;  but  o,ne  of  the 
few  who  lived  to  tell  what  Fouquier-Tinville's  tribunal  was 
like,  has  told  us  something  of  his  last  moments. 

"  I  was  much  impressed,"  says  this  eye-witness,  "  with  Ra- 
baut de  Saint-Etienne.  He  was  condemned  the  same  day  that 
I  was  interrogated.  My  hands  were  bound  as  a  sign  of  con- 
demnation, and  I  was  led  out  to  wait  for  the  cart.  Rabaut 
came  next.  He  exclaimed,  '  I  know  it  now,  this  tribunal  of 
blood,  these  judges,  these  hangmen,  who  stain  with  blood 
the  Republic.'  '  Hold  thy  tongue  ! '  cried  a  gendarme,  '  do 
as  this  young  man  does  who  is  condemned  like  thee,  and 
takes  it  quietly.'  I  was  about  to  protest,  but  Rabaut  fore- 
stalled me.  '  Eh,  man  ami!  '  he  said,  '  soon  they  will  not 
trouble  to  hear  the  accused.  We  are  in  the  hands  of  mur- 
derers.' I  was  dragged  to  the  wicket.  They  were  about  to 
cut  my  hair  for  the  guillotine.  Rabaut  joined  his  voice  to 
mine,  to  plead  that  I  was  not  yet  condemned.  A  turnkey 
confirmed  the  fact,  and  I  was  removed.  Rabaut  kissed  me. 


A   PROTESTANT  PASTOR.  371 

I  see  yet  his  eyes  gleam  with  horror  at  this  new  kind  of 
crime,  and  he  forgot  that  which  was  being  committed  against 
himself,  in  his  interest  for  me." 

Rabaut  asked  leave  to  bid  farewell  to  his  brother,  but 
learning  that  this  would  involve  sending  to  Fouquier-Tinville 
for  an  order,  he  declined  to  keep  the  cart  waiting,  saying, 
"  After  all,  it  would  but  give  needless  pain  to  my  brother- 
Let  us  set  out." 

In  his  pastoral  days  Rabaut  was  noted  for  being  very  com- 
forting to  the  dying.  We  trust  that  he  was  now  able  to 
comfort  Kersaint,  his  fellow-sufferer.  Both  victims  died 
firmly,  though  in  their  case,  as  in  that  of  many  others,  to  the 
bitterness  of  death  was  added  the  bitterness  of  public  hate 
and  ridicule.  Sbme  laughed  at  Rabaut's  unshaven  beard, 
and  the  mirth  had  not  ended  when  the  knife  fell.  Death  to 
such  a  man  must  have  been  hard  to  bear,  —  harder  than  for 
a  royalist,  who  might  glory  in  it  as  martyrdom.  But  a  Giron- 
din  had  so  loved  the  Republic  ! 

Peyssac  and  his  wife  were  guillotined  for  having  sheltered 
one  who  was  hors  la  lot.  Madame  Rabaut  at  Nimes  learned 
of  her  husband's  death  through  a  news-seller  in  the  street, 
and,  maddened  by  grief,  she  shot  herself,  sitting  on  the  edge 
of  a  well,  so  that  drowning  completed  the  work  of  the  pistol. 

Old  Paul  Rabaut,  who  had  wandered  thirty  years  with  a 
price  upon  his  head,  and  had  never  been  taken,  was  now 
pounced  upon,  partly  as  being  the  father  of  an  emigre,  and 
partly  as  being,  if  not  a  priest,  next  door  to  one.  Too  infirm 
to  walk,  he  was  set  upon  an  ass,  and  led  through  a  shouting 
crowd  to  the  citadel  at  Nimes,  built  by  Louis  XIV.  to  over- 
awe the  Protestants.  Without  hope  of  life,  and  without  desire 
to  live,  he  applied  himself  to  console  his  fellow-captives.  The 
fall  of  Robespierre  released  him,  but  he  died  in  three  months, 
and  was  buried  in  his  own  cellar,  Christian  burial  being  still 
prohibited. 

Rabaut-Pommier  lay  long  months  in  the  Conciergerie,  a 
prey  to  all  the  ailments  brought  on  by  damp.  He  was  at 
last  recalled  to  the  Convention  with  the  surviving  Girondins, 
but  finally  subsided  into  a  pastor  of  the  Reformed  Church  at 


372  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

Paris,  and  died  peacefully  in  1820.  Two  of  his  printed 
sermons  are  preserved.  One  is  entitled  "  Napoleon  the 
Deliverer ;  "  the  other  is  in  praise  of  the  u  Restoration  of  the 
Bourbons."  Rabaut-Dupuis,  the  youngest  of  the  three 
brothers,  met  his  death  in  1808,  when  snatching  a  child  from 
the  hoofs  of  a  runaway  horse.  The  child  lived  to  be  made 
Chef  de  division  of  the  prefecture  of  the  Card  in  1853,  and 
bore  testimony  in  a  local  newspaper  to  Rabaut-Dupuis's 
heroism  and  self-devotion. 


BOOK   VI. 

LAFAYETTE   AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

I.  LAFAYETTE'S  CAREER. 
II.  DEATHS  OF  THE  LADIES  OF  MADAME  DE  LAFAYETTE'S  FAMILY. 


CHAPTER   I. 
LAFAYETTE'S  CAREER.1 

f~*  ILBERT  MOTIER,  Marquis  de  Lafayette,  was  de- 
^-*  scended  from  one  of  the  noblest  and  wealthiest  families 
of  France.  He  was  born  at  Chavaniac,  Sept.  6,  1 75  7.  He 
was  a  principal  actor  in  four  great  revolutions  which  changed 
the  political  face  of  the  world.  In  his  boyhood  he  was  one 
of  Marie  Antoinette's  court  pages  ;  at  fifteen  he  was  an  officer 
in  the  king's  Mousquetaires.  At  sixteen  he  married  the 
young  granddaughter  of  the  Marechal  Due  de  Noailles.  All 
the  ladies  of  this  family  who  could  be  seized  upon  by  the 
Committee  of  Public  Safety  in  1793,  were  guillotined  for  their 
connection  with  Lafayette,  whose  unpopularity  was  excessive 
throughout  France  at  that  period.  The  touching  narrative  of 
their  last  moments  will  be  found  in  the  succeeding  chapter. 
It  had  evidently  been  communicated  some  years  before  its 
publication  to  Mr.  Lever,  the  Irish  novelist,  who  incorporated 
it  into  his  delightful  narrative  of  Maurice  Tiernay. 

Republicanism  was  in  the  air  that  Lafayette  breathed  at 
the  period  of  his  marriage.  He  was  an  enthusiast  for  "  liberty." 

1  Much  of  this  chapter  is  taken  from  an  account  given  to  me  by 
Mr.  George  Ticknor,  of  Boston,  who  also  published  it  in  an  article  in 
the  "  North  American  Review."  It  was  given  to  him  by  Colonel  Huger 
(pronounced  Ujee),  and  by  Lafayette  in  1825,  so  that  it  is  entirely 
authentic  as  to  the  abortive  attempt  of  evasion  at  Olmutz. 


374  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

He  heard  of  the  troubles  in  America,  and  rich,  aristocratic, 
and  but  newly  married,  he  resolved  to  forsake  everything  to 
assist  the  cause  of  freedom.  The  American  agents  in  Paris 
being  too  poor  to  send  him  to  America,  he  fitted  out  a  vessel 
at  his  own  expense,  and  landed  not  far  from  Charleston,  at 
one  of  the  darkest  moments  of  our  Revolutionary  struggle. 

He  disarmed  the  prejudice  of  Congress  against  foreigners 
by  requesting  permission  to  serve  at  his  own  expense,  and  as 
a  volunteer.  Congress,  however,  gave  him  rank  as  a  major- 
general. 

He  became  the  aide-de-camp,  intimate  friend,  and  disciple 
of  General  Washington.  "  Heart  and  soul  he  threw  himself 
into  the  struggle  ;  seven  years  of  his  life  were  devoted  to  the 
service  of  America,  bravely  fighting  her  battles  as  a  soldier, 
and  working  for  her  unceasingly  as  a  diplomatist,  to  secure 
her  recognition  by  the  courts  of  Europe.  Twice  during  those 
seven  years  he  revisited  France,  to  plead  the  cause  of  liberty 
with  King  Louis ;  and  his  sovereign  yielded  to  his  prayers, 
and  gave  the  republicans  in  revolt  six  thousand  troops,  and 
large  supplies  of  clothing,  arms,  and  munitions  of  war,  with 
which  to  help  in  the  great  struggle." 

That  struggle  over,  Lafayette  returned  to  Paris,  and  became 
the  hero  of  the  day.  "  His  bust,  presented  by  the  State  of 
Virginia,  was  enshrined,  with  honors,  in  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 
He  was  crowned  with  wreaths,  cheered  by  the  multitude, 
and  petted  by  the  court.  The  people  regarded  him  as  the 
champion  of  liberty,  the  king  as  the  upholder  of  the  glory  of 
the  arms,  and  of  the  influence  of  France." 

For  some  years  after  his  return  to  his  own  country  Lafay- 
ette busied  himself  in  promoting  reforms.  He  advocated  the 
recognition  of  the  civil  rights  of  Jews  and  Protestants,  and 
emancipation  of  the  blacks  in  the  colonies. 

When  the  Assembly  of  the  Notables  met  in  1 788,  Lafayette 
made  the  first  motion.  "  I  demand,"  he  said,  "  the  suppres- 
sion of  lettres  de  cachet,  universal  toleration,  and  the  con- 
vocation of  the  States-General."  By  orders  of  electors 
assembled  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  "  he  organized  the  Na- 
tional Guard  (an  organization  rarely  on  the  side  of  law  and 


LAFAYETTE. 


LAFAYETTE'S  CAREER.  375 

order),  and  was  made  its  commander-in-chief.  He  also, 
when  the  Revolutionary  party  assumed  the  colors  of  the 
city  of  Paris,  added  the  royal  white  to  red  and  blue,  and 
prophesied  that  the  tri-color  should  travel  round  the 
world." 

How  he  saved  the  royal  family  from  utter  destruction,  — 
after,  however,  having  exposed  them  at  Versailles  to  attack, 
—  is  a  well  known  matter  of  history.  As  the  Revolution 
advanced  his  popularity  declined.  Deeply  mortified  at  the 
failure  of  his  cherished  hopes,  he  resigned  his  offices  and  went 
back  to  a  private  station. 

When  war  with  Austria  and  Prussia  was  declared,  however, 
he  came  forward  to  defend  the  sacred  soil  of  his  country* 
He  visited  Paris  while  in  high  military  command  to  make 
protest  against  the  rising  horrors  under  the  Revolutionary 
government.  He  offered  Louis  XVI.  protection  as  a  consti- 
tutional king,  if  he  would  escape  to  his  army.  But  the  king, 
mistrusting  Lafayette,  shilly-shallied,  and  at  last  declined. 
When  the  royal  family  was  arrested  on  its  way  to  the 
frontier  to  join  the  more  royalist  division  of  the  French 
army  commanded  by  Bouille,  public  indignation  against 
Lafayette  rose  to  its  height,  for  he  was  supposed  to  have 
connived  at  the  escape  of  the  king.  Commissioners  were 
sent  to  his  camp  to  inquire  into  the  conduct  of  the  general. 
He  arrested  them,  and  then,  since  to  have  faced  wild  beasts 
would  have  been  madness,  he,  attended  by  a  small  band  of 
friends,  left  the  camp  on  horseback.  Towards  night  they 
came  on  the  advanced  guard  of  the  Austrian  army.  With- 
out declaring  their  names,  they  asked  permission,  as  deserters 
from  the  French  army,  to  pass  through  the  lines  into  Holland. 
Unfortunately,  on  the  frontier  of  the  Grand  Duchy  of  Luxem- 
bourg, Lafayette  was  recognized  by  one  of  the  emigre  nobles. 
The  whole  party  were  instantly  arrested. 

They  were  consigned  to  the  custody  of  Prussia,  and  dis- 
gracefully and  barbarously  she  treated  them.  Loaded  with 
chains  they  were  conveyed  in  a  cart  to  Magdeburg,  lodged, 
on  their  way  there,  in  common  jails,  and  insulted  by  the 
peasantry.  At  Magdeburg  they  were  confined  for  a  year  in 


3/6  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

subterranean  dungeons ;  then  Lafayette  and  two  others 
were  moved  to  Moravia,  part  of  the  Austrian  dominions. 
Finally,  they  were  placed  in  separate  cells  at  Olmutz,  —  cells 
which  they  were  told  that  they  would  never  leave ;  that  they 
would  never  again  hear  a  human  voice  ;  that  their  very 
names  would  never  again  be  mentioned  in  their  presence  ; 
that  they  would  only  be  known  by  the  numbers  on  their 
doors.  A  strong  guard  was  placed  on  duty.  The  sentries 
had  orders,  on  pain  of  a  hundred  lashes,  to  speak  no  word  to 
the  prisoners,  and  to  shoot  them  dead  if  they  tried  to  escape. 
Their  furniture  was  a  bed  of  rotten  straw,  a  chair,  and  a  table. 
Every  precaution  was  taken  ;  every  severity  employed.  When 
it  rained,  water  ran  through  the  unglazed  loop-holes  of  their 
dungeons,  wetting  them  to  the  skin. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  Lafayette's  health  failed  in  such 
an  imprisonment.  In  consequence  of  his  desertion  his 
estates  in  France  had  been  confiscated,  his  wife's  relations 
had  been  guillotined,  and  she  herself  thrown  into  prison. 

In  1794,  after  the  fall  of  Robespierre,  Lally-Tollendal  ex- 
erted himself  to  procure  means  of  escape  for  one  to  whose 
services  the  cause  of  republicanism  was  so  much  indebted. 
Madame  de  Lafayette  had  addressed  piteous  appeals  to 
Washington.  It  has  always  surprised  me  that  no  direct 
action  on  Lafayette's  behalf  seems  to  have  been  taken  by 
the  American  government.  It  shows,  however,  how  mar- 
vellous has  been  the  change  in  the  position  of  the  United 
States  within  the  last  hundred  years.  Stimulated  by  Lally- 
Tollendal,  Dr.  Erick  Bollmann,  a  Hanoverian,  undertook  the 
enterprise.  He  had  first  to  find  out  the  place  of  Lafayette's 
imprisonment,  which  had  been  kept  as  much  a  secret  as  that 
of  Coeur  de  Lion. 

With  great  difficulty  he  ascertained,  after  nearly  a  year's 
search,  that  a  party  of  French  prisoners  at  Magdeburg  had 
been  transferred  to  an  Austrian  escort,  which  had  taken  the 
road  towards  Olmutz  in  Moravia.  He  established  himself  at 
Olmutz  as  a  traveller  in  search  of  health,  and  there  ascer- 
tained that  several  state  prisoners  were  kept  in  the  citadel, 
with  a;  degree  of  caution  and  mystery  not  unlike  that  used 


LAFAYETTE'S  CAREER.  377 

with  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask.  He  did  not  doubt  that 
Lafayette  must  be  one  of  them,  and  making  himself  profes- 
sionally acquainted  with  the  military  surgeon  of  the  post,  he 
obtained  leave  to  send  some  books  to  his  prisoner,  Lafay- 
ette's failing  health  having  led  to  some  relaxation  of  severity. 
He  had  been  allowed  light  and  air,  the  use  of  pen  and  ink, 
and  an  occasional  drive  through  the  forest  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, accompanied  by  an  officer  and  an  escort. 

Dr.  Bollmann,  through  the  surgeon,  sent  him  some  books 
with  a  polite  note,  hoping  they  might  prove  interesting.  La- 
fayette, from  the  tone  of  the  note,  suspected  it  might  mean 
more  than  it  said,  and,  examining  the  books  with  care,  dis- 
covered marks  by  which  he  could  carry  on  a  correspondence 
when  returning  them  to  their  owner.  A  plan  of  escape  hav- 
ing been  devised,  Dr.  Bollmann  left  Olmutz,  and  went  for  a 
time  to  Vienna.  There  he  communicated  his  project  to  Fran- 
cis Key  Huger,  who  then  chanced  to  be  in  Austria.  Colonel 
Huger  was  a  member  of  one  of  the  Huguenot  families  who, 
after  the  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  settled  in 
South  Carolina.  His  father  was  a  warm  personal  friend  of 
Lafayette  in  the  days  of  the  Revolutionary  War.  He  entered 
with  enthusiasm  into  Dr.  Bollmann's  plot,  and  together  they 
returned  to  Olmutz,  in  the  autumn  of  1795. 

On  a  certain  morning  when  Lafayette,  with  an  officer 
beside  him  and  a  guard  upon  the  driving  seat,  was  taken 
out  to  drive  in  the  forest,  Bollmann  and  Huger,  well  mounted, 
followed  the  carriage.  Their  preparations  had  been  made. 
A  carriage  was  in  readiness  at  Hoff,  a  small  town  on  the 
frontier.  Each  carried  a  pistol,  but  no  other  weapon,  think- 
ing themselves  not  justified  in  committing  murder  in  their 
attempt.  About  three  miles  from  the  citadel  the  carriage 
left  the  high-road,  and  passing  through  a  less  frequented 
country,  Lafayette  was  permitted  to  get  out  and  walk,  guarded 
only  by  the  officer.  This  was  the  moment  seized  by  Dr. 
Bollmann  and  Huger.  They  rode  up  at  once.  Huger  dis- 
mounted. "  Seize  this  horse,"  he  cried  to  Lafayette  in  Eng- 
lish, "  and  you  are  free  !  "  The  officer  at  this  drew  his 
sword.  Lafayette  grappled  him.  The  flash  of  the  sword 


378  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

frightened  the  horse,  which  broke  suddenly  away.  In  a 
moment  Lafayette  was  mounted  on  the  other  horse,  Huger 
calling  out  to  him  in  English,  "Take  the  road  to  Hoff! " 
Lafayette  mistook  him,  and  thought  he  said,  "Be  off!" 
He  delayed  a  moment  to  see  if  he  could  assist  his  rescuers, 
now  striving  to  capture  their  loose  horse,  then  went  on,  then 
rode  back  again  and  asked  once  more  if  he  could  be  of  any 
service,  and  finally,  urged  anew,  galloped  slowly  away. 

Meantime  the  horse  was  caught,  and  Huger  jumped  up 
behind  Bollmann.  But  the  animal  had  not  been  trained,  like 
the  other  horse,  to  carry  double.  It  had  been  intended  for 
Lafayette.  They  had  not  gone  far  when  it  became  restive, 
plunged,  and  threw  both  of  them,  injuring  Bollmann's  knee. 
Again  Huger  played  the  hero,  remounted  his  friend,  and 
trusted  to  his  own  fleetness.  But  he  was  soon  captured. 
Dr.  Bollmann  easily  arrived  at  Hoff,  but  there  was  no  La- 
fayette there.  He  lingered  around  till  the  next  night,  when 
he  was  arrested  and  carried  back  to  Olmutz.  Lafayette, 
who  had  taken  a  wrong  road,  rode  on  and  on  till  his  horse 
was  exhausted ;  then  he  was  taken  up  as  a  suspicious  per- 
son, and  returned  to  Olmutz  the  following  day. 

All  three  were  brought  back  separately  to  the  citadel,  and 
neither  was  permitted  to  know  anything  of  the  others'  fate. 
Colonel  Huger  was  chained  to  the  floor  in  a  small  vaulted 
dungeon,  without  light,  and  no  food  but  bread  and  water. 
Every  six  hours  the  guard  entered  vrith  a  lamp,  and  exam- 
ined every  brick  in  his  floor  and  every  link  in  his  chain. 
He  implored  leave  to  send  a  letter  to  his  mother  in  America, 
containing  only  the  words  "  I  am  alive,"  but  he  was  refused. 

At  the  end  of  a  year  a  nobleman,  living  near  their  prison, 
exerted  himself  in  their  behalf,  and  so  influenced  the  tri- 
bunal appointed  to  judge  them,  that  they  were  sentenced 
only  to  a  fortnight's  additional  imprisonment,  and  were 
released  before  orders  could  arrive  from  Vienna  annulling 
the  proceedings  of  the  court,  and  ordering  a  new  trial. 
Bollmann  and  Huger,  however,  were  by  that  time  safely  out 
of  the  Austrian  dominions. 

This   account   differs   in   some   trifling    particulars   from 


LAFAYETTE'S  CAREER.  379 

others  I  have  read,  but  I  had  it  from  Mr.  Ticknor,  of 
Boston,  who  had  heard  all  the  particulars  from  Lafayette 
and  Huger. 

All  former  cruelties  and  rigors  were  inflicted  on  the 
unfortunate  Lafayette.  During  the  winter  of  1794-95  he 
was  reduced  almost  to  the  last  extremity  by  violent-  fever, 
and  yet  was  deprived  of  proper  attendance,  of  air,  of  suit- 
able food,  and  of  decent  clothing.  He  was  made  to  believe 
that  he  was  to  be  publicly  executed,  but  that  first  Bollmann 
and  Huger  would  perish  on  the  scaffold  in  his  sight ;  nor 
was  he  permitted  to  know  if  his  relatives  were  still  alive,  or 
had  fallen  under  the  Revolutionary  axe,  of  which,  during  the 
few  days  he  was  out  of  prison,  he  had  heard  such  appalling 
accounts. 

Meantime  his  wife  and  his  two  daughters  had,  after  the 
fall  of  Robespierre,  found  their  way  to  Vienna.  There 
Madame  de  Lafayette  earnestly  implored  the  emperor  to 
let  them  share  her  husband's  imprisonment.  The  emperor 
granted  her  petition.  For  sixteen  months  she  and  her 
daughters  endured  the  hardships  of  imprisonment  at  Ol- 
mutz ;  then  her  health  gave  way,  and  she  asked  leave  to 
remove  for  a  week  to  purer  air.  She  was  answered  that  she 
might  go,  but  that  she  could  not  return.  At  once  she 
elected  at  any  peril  to  remain  with  her  husband. 

But  Europe  was  now  moving  in  Lafayette's  favor.  Eng- 
land discussed  his  imprisonment  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
and  Napoleon  procured  the  release  of  the  Olmutz  captives 
by  the  Treaty  of  Campo  Formio,  where  they  were  exchanged 
for  the  Princess  Marie  The'rese,  who,  after  the  death  of  her 
parents  and  her  aunt,  had  remained  alone  in  the  Temple. 

Napoleon  never  liked  Lafayette,  who  resided  beyond  the 
French  frontier  till  1799,  when  he  settled  on  his  wife's  coun- 
try seat  at  La  Grange,  forty  miles  from  Paris,  near  the  Forest 
of  Fontainebleau.  Napoleon  once  offered  to  send  him  as 
French  minister  to  the  United  States,  but  Lafayette  declined 
the  appointment,  not  approving  Napoleon's  views  of  govern- 
ment. In  1807  he  lost  his  wife,  and  mourned  her  deeply 
for  the  remainder  of  his  days. 


380  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

It  was  his  voice,  after  Waterloo,  that  first  publicly  called 
upon  the  emperor  to  abdicate  ;  but  when  the  question  arose 
whether  France  should  make  peace  with  the  Allies  by  surren- 
dering Napoleon's  person  to  his  enemies  he  nobly  exclaimed, 
"  I  am  surprised  that  in  making  so  odious  a  proposition  to 
the  French  Nation  you  should  have  addressed  yourselves  to 
the  prisoner  of  Olrnutz  !  " 

After  the  Restoration  Lafayette  lived  quietly  at  La  Grange, 
where  all  young  Americans  of  promise  who  visited  Europe 
at  that  period  were  received  by  him.  His  household  was 
patriarchal.  It  consisted  of  his  son  and  his  son's  wife, 
his  two  daughters  and  their  husbands.  One  daughter  had 
married  Latour  Maubourg,1  the  aide-de-camp  of  Lafayette, 
who  had  been  imprisoned,  as  he  was,  in  the  citadel  at  Olmutz. 
The  other  daughter  had  married  M.  de  Lasteyrie.  Eleven 
grandchildren  were  born  to  Lafayette.  He  preserved  his 
stately  presence  to  a  good  old  age,  but  covered  his  white 
hairs  with  a  brown  wig  as  he  grew  older.  About  1818  he 
went  back  to  public  life,  and  was  in  opposition  to  the  Holy 
Alliance  and  the  policy  of  the  Bourbons.  He  actively  sym- 
pathized with  the  constitutional  revolutions  in  Spain,  Por- 
tugal, and  Piedmont.  He  was  even  deeply  concerned  in  a 
Carbonaro  Conspiracy.  He  would  have  been  arrested  for 
his  connection  with  this  plot  had  he  taken  a  personal  part  in 
it,  but,  fortunately  for  him,  the  day  fixed  for  the  outbreak 
was  the  anniversary  of  his  wife's  death,  and  he  spent  it 
always  in  the  seclusion  of  her  chamber. 

Soon  after  this,  in  1824,  he  was  overwhelmed  with  press- 
ing invitations  to  revisit  America.  Congress  had  even  voted 
that  a  United  States  frigate  should  be  kept  on  the  French 
coast  waiting  his  pleasure.  He  was  very  desirous  to  come 
over  to  this  country,  and  he  had  pecuniary  affairs  here  which 
needed  his  attention,  but  he  was  a  poor  man  ;  his  patrimonial 
estates  had  been  confiscated,  and,  as  he  said :  "  I  owe  debts 
to  the  amount  of  a  hundred  thousand  francs  (about  $20,000) 
which  must  be  paid  before  I  can  honorably  go  to  another 
quarter  of  the  world." 

1  Page  179 


LAFAYETTE'S  CAREER.  381 

This  sum  was  accordingly  raised  among  the  general's 
friends  in  Paris,  principally  among  Americans,  at  the  head 
of  whom  was  the  founder  of  the  great  banking  house  of 
Brown,  Shipley  &  Company.  At  Havre,  Lafayette  em- 
barked on  a  packet-ship,  —  not  on  the  United  States  frigate, 
—  accompanied  by  his  son  George  Washington  Lafayette, 
a  young  man  who  during  his  father's  captivity  had  been 
sheltered  in  the  household  of  General  Washington.  His 
secretary  was  also  with  him,  and  two  very  ridiculous  Eng- 
lishwomen, who  had  managed  to  attach  themselves  to  his 
party. 

He  happily  landed,  after  what  a  contemporary  calls  "  a 
short  passage,"  that  is,  thirty-four  days  from  Havre  to  New 
York.  No  words  can  describe  the  wild  enthusiasm  of  his 
reception.  He  became  so  accustomed  to  raise  his  hat  in 
acknowledgment  of  greetings,  that  he  kept  on  doing  it  even 
in  his  dreams. 

The  excitement  of  the  time,  its  flags,  its  guns,  and  its 
processions,  left  indelible  impressions  on  the  minds  and 
memories  of  people  still  living,  who  were  then  young  chil- 
dren. Here  are  two  contemporary  accounts  of  Lafayette's 
reception,  one  of  his  appearance  in  Boston,  and  at  Cam- 
bridge, by  Mr.  Josiah  Quincy ;  the  other  of  how  he  visited 
New  Orleans,  by  Vincent  Nolte,  the  financier. 

"  As  he  proceeded  on  his  way  from  New  York  to  Boston," 
says  Mr.  Quincy,  "the  whole  country  arose  to  behold  and 
welcome  him.  Every  town  and  village  through  which  he 
passed  was  ornamented  and  illuminated,  and  every  testimony 
of  gratitude  and  affection  which  imagination  could  devise, 
was  offered  to  the  nation's  guest.  The  first  sight  we  caught 
of  the  general  was  as  he  drove  up  the  line  in  an  open  ba- 
rouche drawn  by  four  white  horses.  The  enthusiasm  I  can- 
not attempt  to  describe.  The  remarkable  history  of  the  man 
which  the  events  of  a  stirring  half  century  have  now  some- 
what obliterated  from  our  memory,  was  then  fresh  and  well 
known.  He  had  sounded  all  the  depths  and  shoals  of 
honor.  He  had  passed  from  every  enjoyment  that  wealth 
and  royal  favor  could  bestow,  to  poverty  and  a  dungeon. 


382  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

No  novelist  could  dare  to  imagine  the  vicissitudes  of  his  life, 
since  he  left  America. 

"  He  went  out  to  Cambridge,  to  the  Harvard  Commence- 
ment. There  Mr.  Everett  pronounced  an  oration  which 
moved  every  man  to  tears.  .  .  .  The  weather,  during  his 
stay  in  Boston,  was  perfection.  The  leading  men  of  that 
city  made  receptions  for  him.  He  met  again  the  man  whom 
he  said  of  all  men  in  America  he  most  wished  to  see,  though 
he  had  never  seen  him  before  for  more  than  two  minutes. 
This  was  Colonel  Huger  of  South  Carolina,  who  had  come  on 
to  Boston  to  meet  him.  Their  first  meeting  was  unseen  by  any 
one.  Colonel  Huger  visited  him  before  he  was  up  in  his  own 
chamber.  The  Colonel  since  his  release  from  Olmutz  had 
been  living  the  life  of  a  Southern  planter  on  his  farm  in  the 
uplands  of  South  Carolina;  where  he  had  brought  up  a 
family  of  eleven  children." 

Lafayette  is  described  by  Mr.  Quincy  as  a  man  of  a  fine 
portly  presence,  nearly  six  feet  high,  wearing  lightly  the  three- 
score and  ten  years  he  had  nearly  completed,  showing  no 
infirmity  save  the  slight  lameness  incurred  at  Brandywine. 
"  His  face  on  nearer  view  showed  traces  of  the  sufferings 
through  which  he  had  passed,  but  his  brown  wig,  which  sat 
low  upon  his  forehead,  concealed  some  of  the  wrinkles. 
That  wig  did  him  yeoman's  service.  Without  it  he  could 
never  have  ridden  with  his  hat  off  through  the  continual  re- 
ceptions and  triumphal  entries  that  were  accorded  him." 

The  next  year  (1825),  after  a  triumphal  tour  of  the  United 
States,  Lafayette  returned  to  Boston  for  the  ceremony  of 
laying  the  corner-stone  of  Bunker's  Hill  monument,  on  the 
fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  battle  of  Bunker's  Hill. 

Declining  the  seat  of  honor  prepared  for  him,  he  placed 
himself  among  the  Old  Defenders.  Daniel  Webster  made 
the  oration,  Lafayette  laid  the  corner-stone.  The  prayer 
that  preceded  the  ceremonies  was  offered  by  an  aged  min- 
ister, who,  fifty  years  before  on  that  same  spot,  had  offered 
prayer  on  the  day  of  the  memorable  battle.  Lafayette's 
toast  at  the  concluding  Banquet  was  "  Bunker's  Hill,  and  the 
holy  resistance  to  oppression,  which  has  already  enfranchised 


LAFAYETTE'S  CAREER.  383 

the  American  Hemisphere.     The  next  half  century's  Jubilee 
feast  shall  be  to  Enfranchised  Europe."  1 

Vincent  Nolte  first  saw  Lafayette,  whom,  however,  he  had 
known  before  in  France,  on  his  arrival  in  Washington. 
"  Henry  Clay,"  he  says,  "  then  Speaker  of  the  House  of 
Representatives,  introduced  Lafayette  Dec.  10,  1824, 
into  the  Hall  of  the  House,  and  presented  him  to  both 
Houses  of  Congress  there  assembled.  Two  thousand 
people  were  present,  including  all  the  foreign  ministers, 
except  the  French  one  —  of  the  Bourbons.  Lafayette  after- 
wards told  me  that  though  he  had  witnessed  very  many 
assemblies  in  his  own  country,  never  had  he  received  such 
an  impression  as  from  this  one,  and  that  he  had  never  been 
so  moved  by  the  eloquence  of  any  man  —  not  even  by 
that  of  Mirabeau  —  as  by  the  clear  and  spirited  ring  of  the 
voice  of  Henry  Clay.  '  It  was,'  he  said,  '  the  voice  of  a 
nation  making  itself  heard  by  the  voice  of  a  great  man.' 
The  whole  House,  as  if  stricken  by  the  wand  of  an  en- 
chanter, had  risen  to  their  feet  as  Clay  entered  leading 
Lafayette  by  the  hand.  Members  sat  down  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  welcoming  speech,  but  rose  again  at  the  first  signs 
of  a  reply.  They  expected  Lafayette  to  take  his  spectacles, 
and  a  written  answer  from  his  pocket,  but,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  he  spoke  extemporaneously,  and  in  English.  .  .  . 
Congress  voted  him,  as  a  testimony  of  the  national  grati- 
tude, two  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  two  hundred  thou- 
sand acres  of  land,  which  the  general  chose  in  the  newly 
purchased  State  of  Florida.  After  this  Lafayette  resolved 
to  visit  all  the  States  whose  representatives  had  voted  for 
this  present.  ...  At  New  Orleans,  the  residence  of  the 
Common  Council  was  entirely  refitted  for  his  reception, 
admirably  adorned,  and  luxuriously  furnished.  A  table  with 
thirty  covers  was  set  every  day  during  the  general's  stay, 
that  he  might  become  acquainted  with  the  principal  inhab- 

1  Fifty  years  later  the  bloody  scandal  of  the  Commune  had  just 
ended,  and  I  need  not  enumerate  the  other  events  which  marred  or 
impeded  the  "  enfranchisement  "  of  Europe  as  Lafayette  understood 
that  word.  —  E.  W.  L. 


384  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION: 

itants  and  planters."  From  New  Orleans  he  ascended  the 
Mississippi  to  Natchez,  in  a  small  steamboat  prepared  for 
him,  accompanied  by  the  Governor  of  Louisiana  and  dele- 
gates from  among  the  principal  politicians  of  the  day. 

All  along  the  river,  at  every  little  town,  the  steamboat 
stopped,  and  delegations  came  on  board  with  speeches. 
"I  never,"  says  Nolle,  "saw  a  mark  of  impatience  in  his 
countenance.  He  responded  to  all  with  a  few  suitable  and 
flattering  words.  The  ease  with  which  he  performed  this 
task  greatly  astonished  me.  I  could  not  refrain,  one  day, 
from  asking  him  how  he  managed  always  to  reply  to  the 
most  silly,  idealess  speeches.  '  Mon  ami,'  he  answered,  '  it 
is  not  hard.  I  listen  with  great  attention  till  the  speaker 
drops  something  which  pleases  me,  or  that  gives  opportunity 
for  a  repartee,  and  then  I  think  about  my  reply,  and  arrange 
it ;  but  of  all  the  rest  I  do  not  hear  one  syllable,  it  blows 
over  me.' " 

Nolte  elsewhere  gives  an  anecdote  illustrative  of  this 
great  facility.  Two  young  men  came  on  board  at  one  of 
the  landing-places.  The  general  addressing  one  of  them, 
said  :  "  Are  you  married  ? "  The  man  replied :  "  Yes, 
general."  "  Happy  man  ! "  said  Lafayette.  Then  turning 
to  the  other  he  asked  the  same  question.  The  man  replied 
he  was  a  bachelor.  "  Ah  !  "  said  Lafayette,  "  lucky  dog  !  " 

On  his  return  to  France  he  visited  Chavaniac,  his  birth- 
place, and  during  his  journey  through  France  was  received 
everywhere  with  enthusiasm. 

"  At  the  first  outbreak  of  the  Revolution  of  July  in 
1830,"  says  a  writer  in  "Temple  Bar,"  "  Lafayette  hastened 
back  to  Paris.  During  the  night  of  the  twenty-eighth  he 
personally  visited  the  barricades,  directing  the  insurgents 
with  all  his  old  ardor,  amidst  the  cheers  of  men,  women, 
and  children ;  once  more  he  raised  the  tricolor  upon  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  and  never  rested  until  he  had  not  only  com- 
pelled the  abdication  of  Charles  X.  but  had  driven  him  from 
his  last  shelter — Rambouillet. 

"  But  when  the  moment  arrived  to  decide  on  the  new 
government  of  France,  Lafayette  shrank  from  advising  what 


LAFAYETTE'S  CAREER.  385 

he  seemed  to  have  been  working  for,  and  presented  Louis 
Philippe  to  the  populace  as  '  The  best  of  Republics.'  He 
next  busied  himself  in  the  reconstruction  of  the  National 
Guard,  raising  it  to  one  million  seven  hundred  thousand 
men.  There  was  another  grand  installation,  not  so  grand 
perhaps  as  that  first  one  of  1790,  but  sufficiently  imposing." 

Yet  no  sooner  was  a  regular  government  established  than 
it  dissatisfied  him.  He  resigned  his  post  as  commander- in- 
chief  of  the  National  Guard,  and  although  he  retained  his 
seat  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  may  be  said  to  have 
retired  into  private  life  at  La  Grange. 

The  last  great  event  of  his  life  was  his  refusal  of  the  crown 
of  Belgium.  He  died  May  20,  1834,  in  his  seventy-seventh 
year.  His  funeral  was  magnificent.  In  the  United  States 
the  Senate  Chamber  was  hung  with  black  for  a  month. 

"  Lafayette  had  every  great  quality,"  said  a  contemporary, 
"  but  something  seemed  to  be  wanting  in  each."  "  Popu- 
larity was  the  god  that  ruled  him,"  said  Nolle ;  "  but  so 
immense  were  his  services,  so  ready  his  self-sacrifice,  so 
amiable  and  honorable  his  private  character,  that  this  flaw 
(if  flaw  it  was),  as  well  as  his  political  mistakes,  may  well  be 
forgotten.  He  spoke  and  wrote  English  perfectly  well,  but 
in  speaking  it  he  had  a  strong  French  accent.  In  writing 
nothing  betrayed  his  nationality  but  his  French  handwriting." 

"  He  would  fain  be  a  Grandison-Cromwell,"  said  Mirabeau, 
speaking  of  him  in  the  early  days  of  the  Revolution.  "  He 
would  coquette  with  the  supreme  authority  without  daring  to 
seize  it." 

"There  is  much  wit  and  felicity,"  says  the  writer  in 
"  Temple  Bar,"  "  in  that  curiously  compounded  epithet 
'  Grandison-Cromwell.'  Imagine  if  you  can,  by  some  impos- 
sible freak  of  fortune,  Sir  Charles  Grandison  thrust  into  the 
position  of  a  Cromwell,  and  you  will  understand  much  of 
Lafayette's  character  and  actions.  In  America,  under  the 
influence  of  Washington  he  was  admirable,  but  his  part  in 
the  French  Revolution,  after  it  had  passed  its  early  stages, 
was  that  of  a  fine  gentleman  demagogue,  who  would  have 
loved  to  rule  over  fine  gentlemen  republicans.  ...  To  stand 

25 


386  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

between  Louis  XVI.  and  the  people ;  to  be  the  protector 
and  the  master  of  the  one,  the  liberator  and  champion  of 
the  other,  and  the  observed  of  all,  was  to  obtain  the  acme 
of  his  ambition.  But  his  errors  were  all  of  the  head.  In  his 
breast  there  beat  a  noble  heart,  in  which  love  of  liberty,  and 
hatred  of  despotism,  were  enshrined  in  its  highest  place.  .  .  . 
Above  all  he  was  generous  to  fallen  opponents.  How  hardly 
he  strove  to  save  Napoleon  from  the  hands  of  his  enemies  ! 
How  gratefully  he  remembered  that  to  the  fallen  emperor, 
with  whose  acts  and  policy  he  had  ever  been  at  variance, 
he  owed  his  release  from  the  dungeons  of  Olmutz ;  and 
when  after  the  accession  of  Louis  Philippe  the  mob  clam- 
ored for  the  lives  of  the  Polignac  Ministry,  he  stood  forth  to 
protect  from  public  rage  the  men  whose  power  he  himself 
had  worked  so  ardently  to  overthrow." 

The  name  of  Lafayette 1  was  illustrious  as  far  back  as  the 
fourteenth  century.  At  the  time  of  the  celebration  at  York- 
town  in  1 88 1,  the  holder  of  the  title  was  M.  Edmond  de 
Lafayette,  a  senator  and  president  of  the  Conseil  General  of 
the  Upper  Loire.  He  had  succeeded  his  elder  brother 
Oscar,  who  had  died  childless  a  few  months  before. 

The  founder  of  the  family  was  a  Marquis  de  Lafayette,  who 
defeated  the  English  at  the  battle  of  Bauge',  shortly  before 
the  time  of  Joan  of  Arc,  —  a  success  which  raised  the  hopes 
of  the  dauphin,  who  afterwards  recovered  the  French  throne. 

In  the  seventeenth  century  two  noble  and  illustrious  women 
bore  the  ancient  name.  One  of  these  ladies  was  Louise  de 
Lafayette,  maid  of  honor  to  Anne  of  Austria,  whose  husband, 
Louis  XIII.,  fell  so  deeply  in  love  with  the  young  lady  that 
he  proposed  to  establish  her  in  his  country  house  at  Ver- 
sailles, a  royal  shooting  box,  built  before  the  time  of  the 
great  chateau.  Alarmed  by  the  infatuation  of  the  king,  and 
seeing  no  way  to  save  her  honor  but  by  devoting  herself  to 
Heaven,  Louise  de  Lafayette  retired  to  the  Convent  of  the 
Visitation,  and  at  once  took  the  vows.  She  died  at  the  age 

1  This  account  of  the  Lafayette  family  is  from  the  "  Supplement 
Litteraire  clu  Figaro."  I  translated  it  and  republished  it  in  the 
"Living  Age,"  Sept.  17,  1881.  —  E.  W.  L. 


LAFAYETTE'S  CAREER.  387 

of  fifty,  as  Mere  Angelique,  Abbess  of  Chaillot,  a  convent  she 
had  founded. 

Her  brother,  Comte  Lafayette,  married  in  1655  Marie 
Madeleine  Pioche  de  la  Vergne,  an  intimate  friend  of  Madame 
de  Se'vigne,  and  authoress  of  the  "  Princesse  de  Cleves,"  a 
classical  romance  of  the  old  school,  in  many  volumes. 

The  father  of  the  general  fell  in  a  skirmish  near  Minden, 
April  3,  1758,  at  the  age  of  twenty-five,  when  his  son  was 
seven  months  old.  The  name  of  Lafayette,  through  this 
infant,  came  to  be  worshipped  by  forty  millions  of  freemen, 
and  few  American  cities  are  without  a  street,  a  square,  or  an 
avenue,  named  in  his  honor. 

All  his  life  long  nothing  seems  to  have  been  able  to  repress 
his  rashness.  Equally  in  vain  were  the  wise  exhortations  of 
Washington  and  the  cold  mockeries  of  Frederick  the  Great. 
Even  at  the  age  of  seventy  he  exposed  himself  to  great  dan- 
ger in  a  riot  at  the  funeral  of  General  Lamarque,  and  only 
a  short  time  before  his  death  he  persisted  in  following  on 
foot  the  remains  of  Dulong,  his  colleague  in  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies,  who  had  been  killed  in  a  duel  by  General  Bugeaud. 

In  1778  he  wanted  to  send  a  challenge  to  Lord  Carlisle, 
who,  in  an  official  letter  to  the  American  Congress,  had  in 
his  opinion  used  a  phrase  insulting  to  France.  Washington 
at  once  wrote  to  his  young  friend,  disapproving  the  challenge. 
"  The  generous  spirit  of  chivalry/'  he  said,  "  when  banished 
from  the  rest  of  the  world,  has  taken  refuge,  my  dear  friend, 
in  the  highly  wrought  feelings  of  your  nation.  But  you  can- 
not do  anything  if  the  other  party  will  not  second  you  ;  and 
although  these  feelings  may  have  been  suitable  to  the  times 
to  which  they  belonged,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  in  our  day 
your  adversary,  taking  shelter  behind  modern  opinions  and 
his  public  character,  may  even  slightly  ridicule  so  old-fash- 
ioned a  virtue.  Besides,  even  supposing  his  lordship  should 
accept  your  challenge,  experience  has  proved  that  chance, 
far  more  than  bravery  or  justice,  decides  in  such  affairs.  I 
therefore  should  be  very  unwilling  to  risk  on  this  occasion  a 
life  which  ought  to  be  reserved  for  greater  things.  I  trust 
that  His  Excellency  Admiral  the  Count  d'Estaing  will  agree 


388  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

with  me  in  this  opinion,  and  that  as  soon  as  he  can  part  with 
you  he  will  send  you  to  headquarters,  where  I  shall  be  truly 
glad  to  welcome  you." 

During  the  summer  of  1785  Lafayette  paid  a  visit  to 
Germany,  and  particularly  to  Prussia.  Frederick  the  Great 
received  him  with  distinction.  In  his  Memoirs  he  speaks  of 
dining  with  the  king  at  Potsdam.  "  Lord  Cornwallis,"  he 
says,  "  was  there.  The  king  placed  him  next  me  at  table, 
and  on  his  other  hand  he  had  the  Duke  of  York,  the  son  of 
the  King  of  England.  They  asked  me  a  thousand  questions 
on  American  affairs." 

The  wife  of  the  general,  whom  he  married  in  1774,  when  he 
was  little  more  than  seventeen  and  she  was  three  years  younger, 
was  Marie  Adrienne  Frangoise,  second  daughter  of  the  Due 
d'Ayen  and  grand-daughter  of  the  Mare'chale  de  Noailles; 
Madame  d'Ayen  and  the  Mare'chale  de  Noailles  were  guillo- 
tined during  the  Reign  of  Terror.  The  story  of  their  deaths, 
told  by  their  chaplain,  who  in  lay  dress  followed  their  cart  to 
the  place  of  execution,  will  be  found  in  the  next  chapter. 

After  three  years  of  happy  married  life  Lafayette  quitted 
his  young  wife  shortly  before  the  birth  of  their  first  child,  to 
hasten  to  the  aid  of  the  American  colonies.  The  infant  born 
during  her  father's  absence  became  Madame  Charles  de 
Latour-Maubourg. 

Madame  de  Lafayette,  after  the  deaths  of  her  grand- 
mother, mother,  and  sister,  languished  a  year  longer  in 
prison;  but  in  1795  she  was  released,  and  sent  over  the 
frontier  of  France,  with  her  two  daughters.  With  an  Amer- 
ican passport  she  reached  Vienna,  and  there,  as  we  have 
seen,  implored  the  emperor  till  she  obtained  permission  to 
share  her  husband's  prison. 

After  three  years  and  a  half  of  captivity,  Lafayette,  with 
his  fellow-Captives,  M.  Charles  de  Maubourg  and  M.  de  Pusy, 
were  set  at  liberty. 

When  Madame  de  Lafayette  quitted  France  with  her  two 
daughters,  she  sent  her  son,  with  his  tutor,  to  America. 
George  Washington  Lafayette  was  placed  by  General  Wash- 
ington at  Harvard  University.  During  one  of  his  visits  to 


LAFAYETTE'S  CAREER.  389 

Washington  in  1797,  he  met  there  a  young  French  exile  who 
had  a  project  of  teaching  mathematics  and  geography  for  a 
living.  It  was  the  future  King  of  the  French,  Louis  Philippe 
d'Orle'ans. 

Young  Lafayette  stayed  three  years  in  America,  and  when 
Napoleon  became  First  Consul  obtained  a  commission  in  the 
French  army.  But  Napoleon,  probably  from  motives  of 
policy,  was  unwilling  that  the  son  of  Lafayette  should  have 
the  chance  of  distinction,  and  in  1807  the  young  man  in 
disgust  retired  from  the  army. 

In  1802  he  had  married  Mademoiselle  Destute  de  Tracy, 
and  he  had  five  children,  two  boys  and  three  girls.  The 
elder  son,  Oscar,  died  in  1881.  His  wife,  a  relative  of  M.  de 
Pusy,  one  of  the  prisoners  at  Olmutz,  had  died  after  a  year 
of  married  life,  and  Oscar  never  remarried.  His  brother,  M. 
Edmond  de  Lafayette,  succeeded  to  the  title  on  his  death, 
but  was  a  bachelor.  Lafayette's  direct  descendants  in  the 
male  line  are  now  extinct. 

In  the  female  line,  through  daughters  and  grand-daugh- 
ters, he  has  many  descendants,  all  of  them  allied  with  illus- 
trious families. 

Madame  Charles  de  Latour-Maubourg  had  only  daughters. 
The  husband  of  one  of  them,  a  Piedmontese  general,  was 
killed  at  the  battle  of  Novara. 

Lafayette's  other  daughter,  Madame  de  Lasteyrie,  was 
named  Virginia.  She  and  her  family  formed  part  of  the  large 
household  at  La  Grange.  The  Marquis  de  Lasteyrie  died 
before  his  father-in-law,  leaving  four  children.  One  daugh- 
ter married  the  statesman,  M.  Charles  de  Re"musat,  and  so 
became  daughter-in-law  of  the  lady  who  has  given  us  her 
Memoirs  of  the  Court  of  Napoleon.  The  son,  M.  Jules  de 
Lasteyrie,  has  held  high  positions  under  various  French  gov- 
ernments. Collaterally  the  Lafayette  family  is  connected 
with  other  families  of  distinction  whose  names  are  familiar 
to  the  American  public  ;  notably  with  the  families  of  De 
Segur  and  Montalembert. 

The  Marquis  Edmond  de  Lafayette  attended  the  com- 
memoration at  Yorktovvn,  together  with  his  nephew,  young 
M.  de  Re"musat. 


CHAPTER  II. 

DEATHS   OF   THE    LADIES   OF   MADAME   DE   LAFAYETTE'S 
FAMILY.1 

'"PHE  old  Mar£chale  de  Noailles  (Marie  Antoinette's 
-*-  Madame  1'Etiquette),  her  daughter  the  Duchesse 
d'Ayen,  mother  of  Madame  de  Lafayette  and  of  Louise, 
who  had  married  her  cousin,  the  Vicomte  de  Noailles,  were 
imprisoned  during  the  Reign  of  Terror,  and  were  all  guillo- 
tined together,  July  22,  1794.  Their  remains  shared  the 
common  lot,  and  were  mingled  with  those  of  criminals  in 
the  cemetery  of  Picpus  ;  but  the  story  of  their  last  hours  has 
been  preserved  for  us  in  the  narrative  of  a  priest,  M.  Carri- 
chon,  who  had  to  run  considerable  risk  in  following  the  tum- 
brils to  the  place  of  execution,  in  order  that,  concealed 
among  the  crowd  of  spectators  and  carefully  disguised,  he 
might  give  them  their  last  absolution.  M.  Carrichon  wrote 
down  his  experiences  immediately  after  they  occurred,  and 
his  narrative  throws  a  painfully  vivid  and  personal  light  on 
events  with  which  we  are  all  vaguely  familiar. 

The  old  Marechale  de  Noailles,  her  daughter  and  grand- 
daughter, were  imprisoned  together  in  their  own  house  from 
September,  1793  (six  weeks  before  the  queen's  death),  to  the 
following  April.  During  the  whole  of  that  time  M.  Carrichon, 
the  spiritual  director  of  the  Duchesse  d'Ayen  and  her  daugh- 
ter, visited  them  once  a  week ;  and  as  the  Terror  increased 
its  crimes  and  the  tale  of  its  victims  grew  more  and  more  day 
by  day,  these  three  friends  exhorted  one  another  to  be  pre- 
pared for  death.-  One  day,  with  a  kind  of  presentiment,  the 
priest  said  to  them,  "  If  you  go  to  the  guillotine,  and  God 
gives  me  strength  to  do  it,  I  will  accompany  you." 

1  Abridged  from  "  Macmillan's  Magazine."  Reprinted  in  "  Littell's 
Living  Age,"  Dec.  5,  1891. 


DEATHS  IN  THE  LAFAYETTE  FAMILY.         391 

The  two  women  took  him  eagerly  at  his  word  and  begged 
him,  then  and  there,  to  promise  that  he  would  render  them 
this  last  service.  He  avows  frankly  that  he  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  more  clearly  conscious  than  they  could  be  of  the 
frightful  risk  he  would  run,  and  the  possible  uselessness  of 
the  sacrifice,  and  then  he  assented,  adding  that  in  order 
that  they  might  not  fail  to  recognize  him,  he  would  wear  a 
dark  blue  coat  and  a  red  waistcoat.  The  time  for  redeeming 
a  pledge  of  which  they  often  reminded  him  came  all  too 
soon.  In  April,  1794,  a  week  after  Easter,  the  three  ladies 
were  removed  to  the  Luxembourg,  and  M.  Carrichon's  direct 
communication  with  them  ceased.  But  he  continued  to 
hear  news  of  them  through  M.  Grelet,  the  young  tutor  to 
whom  Louise  de  Noailles  had  confided  her  children,  two 
boys  and  a  girl.  Gre'let's  tender,  faithful  devotion  to  her  and 
hers  was  the  one  bright  spot  in  her  fast  darkening  days. 
Hers  was  a  singularly  sweet  and  noble  nature.  One  reads 
that  clearly  in  her  last  letters  to  her  husband  and  children, 
and  every  one  who  has  ever  mentioned  her  speaks  of  her 
as  "  an  angel."  She  was  beautiful  as  well  as  good  and 
charming,  and  the  love  of  her  husband's  family,  as  well  as 
of  her  own,  seems  to  have  been  centred  on  her. 

What  manner  of  man  her  husband,  M.  le  Vicomte  Louis 
de  Noailles,  was,  we  know  not.  He  was  an  emigre  with  the 
army  at  Coblentz.  Here  is  his  wife's  farewell  letter  to  him, 
written  at  the  Luxembourg  and  committed  to  the  care  of 
M.  Grelet. 

"  You  will  find  this  letter  from  me,  man  ami,  written  at 
different  times,  and  very  badly  put  together.  I  should  like 
to  have  rewritten  it  and  to  have  added  many  things,  but 
that  has  not  been  possible  here.  I  can  only  renew  to  you 
the  assurance  of  that  most  tender  feeling  for  you  the  exist- 
ence of  which  you  know  already,  and  which  will  go  with  me 
beyond  the  grave.  You  will  be  aware  in  what  situation  I 
now  find  myself,  and  you  will  learn  with  consolation  that  God 
has  taken  care  of  me,  that  He  has  sustained  my  strength 
and  my  courage,  that  the  hope  of  obtaining  your  salvation, 
your  eternal  happiness,  and  that  of  my  children,  by  the 


392  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

sacrifice  of  my  life,  has  encouraged  and  will  encourage  me 
in  the  most  terrible  moments.  I  place  in  your  hands  these 
dear  children,  who  have  been  the  consolation  of  my  life,  and 
who  I  hope  will  be  yours.  I  have  confidence  that  you  will 
only  seek  to  strengthen  in  them  the  principles  which  I  have 
tried  to  inculcate  ;  they  are  the  only  source  of  true  happiness, 
and  the  only  means  of  attaining  to  it.  There  remains  for 
me,  man  ami,  one  last  request  to  make  to  you,  which  will,  I 
believe,  be  superfluous  when  you  know  it.  It  is,  I  conjure 
you  with  the  utmost  earnestness,  never  to  separate  from  these 
children  M.  Grelet,  whom  I  leave  in  charge  of  them.  There 
is  no  ease  and  no  softening  in  my  lot  that  I  have  not  at  all 
times  owed  to  him,  especially  since  I  have  been  in  prison. 
He  has  served  as  father  and  mother  to  those  poor  children. 
He  has  devoted  himself  and  sacrificed  himself  for  them  and 
me  in  the  most  painful  circumstances,  with  a  tenderness  and 
courage  I  shall  never  be  able  to  repay.  The  sole  consolation 
I  carry  with  me  is  to  know  that  my  children  are  in  his  hands. 
You  will  not  frustrate  it,  man  ami,  and  I  have  firm  confidence 
you  will  regard  this  wish  of  mine  as  sacred." 

Everything  in  the  Vicomtesse  de  Noailles'  conduct  and 
all  her  utterances  bear  witness  to  the  dignity  and  beauty  of  a 
character  which,  if  not  exceptional,  at  least  serves  to  remind 
us  that  there  were  women  at  that  period  other  in  heart  and 
soul  —  court  ladies  and  grandes  dames  though  they  might 
be  —  from  the  frivolous,  curious,  skeptical,  light-hearted 
beings,  the  minutiae  of  whose  dress  and  deportment,  along 
with  their  incurable  levity,  live  for  us  in  De  Goncourt's 
"  Femmes  du  XVIIP1.6  Siecle,"  and  elsewhere. 

But  to  return  to  M.  Carrichon's  narrative.  In  June  of 
that  terrible  summer,  M.  Grelet  came  to  ask  him  whether  he 
would  render  the  same  service  he  had  promised  to  Madame 
de  Noailles  to  her  grandfather  and  grandmother  by  marriage, 
the  old  Marechal  de  Mouchy  and  his  wife.  The  priest  went 
immediately  to  the  Palais  de  Justice  (part  of  the  Concier- 
gerie),  whither  the  prisoners  had  been  moved,  and  succeeded 
in  penetrating  into  the  courtyard,  where  all  the  condemned 
were  assembled.  Those  he  especially  sought  were  close  to 


DEATHS  IN  THE  LAFAYETTE  FAMILY.         393 

him,  under  his  eyes,  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  but 
he  had  only  once  before  seen  M.  and  Madame  de  Mouchy, 
and,  though  he  knew  them,  they  were  not  able  to  distinguish 
him.  What  he  could  do  he  did  for  them,  "  by  the  inspira- 
tion and  by  the  help  of  God  ;  "  and  he  heard  the  brave  old 
soldier  praying  aloud  with  all  his  heart,  and  was  told  by 
others  that  the  evening  before,  as  the  prisoners  left  the  Lux- 
embourg for  their  trial,  and  their  fellow-prisoners  pressed 
round  them  with  expressions  of  sympathy,  the  marshal  made 
answer  :  "  At  seventeen  I  mounted  the  breach  for  my  king ; 
at  seventy-eight  I  go  to  the  scaffold  for  my  God.  Friends,  I 
am  not  unfortunate." 

On  this  occasion,  M.  Carrichon  thought  it  useless  to  at- 
tempt to  follow  the  tumbrils  to  the  guillotine,  and  he  augured 
ill  for  the  fulfilment  of  the  promise  he  had  made  to  Louise 
de  Noailles.  She  and  her  mother  had  been  with  the  De 
Mouchys  to  the  last,  doing  their  best  to  serve  and  solace 
them,  and  he  knew  now  that  their  turn  to  go  might  be  very 
near.  Yet  all  through  the  dreary  month  that  followed,  the 
tumbrils  rolled  daily,  and  heads  fell  by  the  score,  and  his 
friends  still  lived. 

The  22d  of  July  fell  on  a  Tuesday;  and  early  in  the 
morning,  between  eight  and  ten  o'clock,  just  as  M.  Carrichon 
was  going  out,  he  heard  a  knock,  and  on  opening  his  door 
saw  the  young  De  Noailles  and  their  tutor.  The  boys  were 
merry  with  the  light-heartedness  of  their  age,  and  from  igno- 
rance of  the  situation  ;  but  the  haggard  sadness  expressed 
in  M.  Gre'let's  face  told  the  priest  at  once  that  the  blow  had 
fallen.  Leaving  the  children,  Grelet  drew  him  into  an  inner 
room,  where,  flinging  himself  into  a  chair,  the  young  man  told 
him  that  the  three  ladies  De  Noailles  had  gone  before  the 
Revolutionary  Tribunal,  and  that  he  came  to  summon  him 
to  keep  his  promise.  He  himself  was  going  to  take  the  two 
boys  to  Vincennes,  where  their  little  sister  Euph6mie,  four 
years  old,  had  been  left  in  charge  of  friends,  and  during  their 
walk  through  the  woods  he  intended  to  prepare  the  unhappy 
children  for  their  terrible  loss. 

Once  alone  with  his  reflections,  after  M.  Grelet  and  the 


394  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

boys  had  gone,  M.  Carrichon  felt  utterly  appalled  at  the 
prospect  of  the  task  he  had  undertaken.  Nothing  gives  a 
fresher  stamp  of  truth  and  vivid  reality  to  his  simple  narration 
than  the  betrayal  of  his  own  irresolution,  which  is  more  than 
once  repeated  in  its  pages.  He  was  a  good  man,  but  no 
hero.  A  man  of  heart,  but  not  a  man  of  strong  nerves ; 
and  having  tried  it  once,  he  was  keenly  aware  of  the  tremen- 
dous nature  of  the  risk  he  ran,  compared  with  the  very  slight 
chance  there  could  be  of  succeeding  in  his  mission.  This 
psychological  characteristic,  which  cannot  fairly  be  called 
want  of  courage,  certainly  adds  something  to  M.  Carrichon's 
account  of  that  day's  events.  It  makes  one  feel  so  intensely 
the  passionate  struggle  which  up  to  the  last  moment  went  on 
in  his  mind,  between  the  natural  instinct  of  self-preservation 
and  his  earnest  desire  to  do  his  duty  by  those  who  had  con- 
fided their  spiritual  welfare  to  him  while  they  were  still  at 
ease  and  in  safety. 

"  My  God  !  "  he  cried  aloud  in  his  distress  of  mind,  "  have 
pity  alike  on  them  and  on  me  ! " 

Then  the  priest  disguised  himself  as  agreed,  and  went  out. 
He  transacted  some  business  of  his  own  first,  carrying  about 
with  him  everywhere  a  heart  of  lead,  and  between  one  and 
two  o'clock  went  to  the  Palais  de  Justice.  He  was  not  al- 
lowed to  enter,  but  he  contrived  to  ask  a  few  questions  from 
some  who  had  just  come  from  the  tribunal,  and  their  answers 
dispelled  the  last  illusions  of  hope.  He  could  doubt  the 
horrible  truth  no  longer.  His  business  next  took  him  to  the 
Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  and  it  was  not  till  nearly  five  o'clock 
that  he  returned  with  slow,  lagging,  irresolute  steps,  desiring 
in  his  heart  either  not  to  arrive  in  time,  or  else  not  to  find 
there  those  who  so  much  desired  his  presence. 

When  he  reached  the  palace  nothing  as  yet  announced 
the  departure  of  the  prisoners.  For  nearly  an  hour  he 
waited,  at  once  the  longest  and  the  shortest  hour  of  his  life, 
pacing  the  great  hall  in  an  agony  of  anxiety,  and  glancing 
from  time  to  time  into  the  court  below,  to  see  what  prepara- 
tions were  going  forward.  At  length,  about  six  o'clock,  a 
noise  of  opening  doors  struck  on  his  strained  ears.  He 


DEATHS  IN  THE  LAFAYETTE  FAMILY.        395 

went  down  hurriedly  and  placed  himself  as  near  as  possible 
to  the  grating  which  separated  the  prison  from  the  hall  of 
justice.  For  the  last  fortnight .  no  one  had  been  allowed 
within  the  courtyard  on  these  occasions.  The  first  cart  was 
filled,  and  came  slowly  towards  him.  It  contained  eight 
ladies,  all  personally  unknown  to  him ;  but  in  the  ninth,  the 
last  of  their  number,  he  recognized  the  old  Mardchale  de 
Noailles,  and  the  sight  of  her,  alone,  without  her  daughter 
or  grand-daughter,  revived  within  him  a  ray  of  hope.  It 
was  instantly  quenched.  They  were  together  in  the  last 
cart.  Madame  de  Noailles,  girlishly  young  and  fair,  looking 
scarcely  twenty-four,  all  in  white,  —  which  she  had  worn  as 
mourning  since  the  death  of  her  grandparents,  M.  and 
Madame  de  Mouchy,  —  and  Madame  d'Ayen  in  a  striped 
deshabille  of  blue  and  white.  Six  men  mounted  the  cart, 
and  M.  Carrichon  noticed  that  the  first  two  placed  them- 
selves at  a  little  distance  from  the  two  ladies  with  an  air  of 
respect,  as  if  with  a  desire  to  give  them  a  brief  spell  of 
privacy. 

Hardly  were  they  seated  when  Madame  de  Noailles  began 
to  show  her  mother  a  tender,  eager  solicitude,  which  caught 
the  attention  of  the  bystanders.  "  Do  you  see  that  young 
one,"  the  priest  heard  some  one  near  him  say,  "how  she 
moves  about  and  talks  to  the  other?" 

Then  he  perceived  that  the  prisoners'  eyes  were  searching 
for  him,  and  from  their  expressions  he  seemed  to  hear  their 
whispered  words  :  "  Mother,  he  is  not  here."  "  Look  again." 
"  Nothing  escapes  me  ;  I  assure  you  he  is  not  here." 

They  had  forgotten  — poor  souls  —  in  their  acute  anxiety 
a  fact  of  which  he  had  sent  them  warning,  that  he  could  not 
possibly  enter  the  courtyard.  The  first  cart  remained  close 
to  him  for  at  least  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Directly  it  began 
to  move  on,  the  other  started,  and  M.  Carrichon  made 
ready.  It  passed,  and  neither  saw  him.  He  re-entered  the 
Palais  de  Justice,  made  a  long  detour,  and  placed  himself  in 
a  conspicuous  place  at  the  opening  of  the  Pont  au  Change. 
Madame  de  Noailles  gazed  round  in  all  directions,  but  by  a 
curious  fatality  missed  him  again.  He  followed  them  the 


396  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

length  of  the  bridge,  separated  from  them  by  the  crowd,  but 
still  in  close  proximity.  Madame  de  Noailles  sought  the 
whole  time,  but  yet  did  not  perceive  him.  Madame  d'Ayen's 
face  began  to  wear  an  extreme  disquietude,  and  her  daughter 
redoubled  her  attention,  but  in  vain.  Then  the  priest  con- 
fesses that  he  felt  tempted  to  renounce  his  dangerous 
mission.  "I  have  done  all  I  can,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  Everywhere  else  the  crowd  will  be  still  greater.  It  cannot 
be  done,  and  I  am  tired  to  death." 

He  was  just  about  to  desist,  and  to  retrace  his  steps,  when 
the  sky  grew  dark,  and  a  distant  murmur  of  thunder  was 
heard.  A  sudden  impulse  made  him  determined  to  try 
again.  By  short  cuts  and  back  wa)js  he  contrived  to  reach 
the  street  St.  Antoine  before  the  tumbrils,  at  a  spot  nearly 
opposite  the  too  famous  prison  La  Force.  And  now  the 
wind  rose,  and  the  brooding  storm  burst  with  all  its  fury, 
with  lightning  and  thunder  and  torrents  of  rain.  The  priest 
withdrew  beneath  a  doorway,  standing  on  the  steps  of  a 
shop,  which  was  ever  after  present  to  his  memory,  and  which 
he  could  never  see  again  without  emotion.  In  one  instant 
the  street  was  swept  clear  of  all  spectators ;  every  one  had 
run  under  cover,  or  up  into  the  windows,  and  the  line  of 
march  in  the  advancing  procession  became  broken  and  dis- 
ordered. The  horsemen  and  the  foot-guards  moved  along 
quicker,  and  the  carts  also.  In  another  minute  they  were 
close  to  the  Little  St.  Antoine,  and  M.  Carrichon  was  still 
undecided  what  to  do. 

The  first  cart  passed  him,  and  then  an  uncontrollable 
involuntary  inspiration  made  him  hastily  leave  the  doorway 
and  advance  toward  the  second.  He  found  himself  close  to 
it,  and  quite  alone,  with  Madame  de  Noailles  smiling  down 
on  him  with  a  radiant  smile  of  welcome,  that  seemed  to  say, 
"  Ah  !  there  you  are  at  last ;  how  glad  we  are  !  "  Then  she 
called  her  mother's  attention  to  him,  and  the  poor  woman's 
failing  spirit  revived.  And  with  that  brave  action  all  the 
priest's  own  agony  of  irresolution  passed  away,  and  left  him 
strong  and  peaceful.  By  the  grace  of  God  he  felt  himself 
filled  with  an  extraordinary  courage  to  do  and  dare  the 


DEATHS  IN  THE  LAFAYETTE  FAMILY.        397 

utmost.  Drenched  with  sweat  and  rain,  he  thought  no 
more  of  that,  nor  of  any  outward  things,  but  continued  to 
walk  beside  them.  On  the  steps  of  the  College  of  St.  Louis 
he  perceived  a  friend,  —  Father  Brun  of  the  Oratory,  —  also 
seeking  to  render  them  his  last  services  of  consolation,  and 
to  express  his  respect  and  attachment.  The  latter's  face 
and  attitude  showed  all  he  felt  at  seeing  them  on  their  way 
to  death,  and  as  M.  Carrichon  passed  he  touched  Father 
Brun  on  the  shoulder,  saying  with  a  thrill  of  inexpressible 
emotion,  "  Bon  soir,  mon  ami !  " 

Here  there  was  a  square  into  which  several  streets  ran, 
and  at  this  point  the  storm  was  at  its  height,  and  the  wind 
at  its  wildest.  The  ladies  in  the  first  cart  were  very  much 
discomforted  by  it,  especially  the  Mare'chale  de  Noailles. 
Her  big  cap  was  blown  off  her  head,  and  her  gray  hair 
exposed,  while  she  and  all  the  others  swayed  to  and  fro  in 
the  tempest,  on  their  miserable  benches  without  any  backs, 
and  their  hands  tied  behind  them.  A  number  of  people 
who  had  collected  there  in  spite  of  the  storm,  recognized  the 
well-known  face  of  the  great  court  lady,  and  fixed  all  their 
attention  on  her,  adding  to  her  torment  by  insulting  cries. 
"  There  she  is  !  "  they  shrieked,  —  "  that  marechale  who 
used  to  cut  such  a  dash  and  drive  in  such  a  grand  chariot, 
—  there  she  is  in  the  cart  with  all  the  rest ! "  The  noise 
continued  and  followed  them,  while  the  sky  grew  darker 
and  the  rain  more  violent.  They  reached  the  square  before 
the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine.  M.  Carrichon  moved  on  ahead  to 
reconnoitre,  and  swiftly  decided  that  here  at  last  was  the  best 
place  to  accord  the  prisoners  that  which  they  so  greatly 
desired.  The  second  cart  was  going  a  little  slower,  and 
stopping  short  he  leaned  towards  its  occupants,  making  a 
sign  which  Madame  de  Noailles  perfectly  understood  and 
communicated  to  her  mother.  Then,  as  the  two  women 
bent  their  heads  "  with  an  air  of  repentance,  hope,  and 
piety,"  the  priest  raised  his  hand,  and  with  covered  head 
pronounced  distinctly  and  with  concentrated  attention  the 
whole  formula  of  absolution,  and  the  words  that  follow  it. 
All  thought  of  self  was  obliterated  in  the  solemn  joy  of  that 


398  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

moment.  Then  the  sky  cleared  and  the  rain  ceased,  and 
as  the  carts  advanced  into  the  faubourg,  a  curious  mocking 
crowd  assembled  to  see  them  pass.  The  ladies  in  the  first 
one  were  heaped  with  insults,  the  mare'chale  especially,  but 
no  one  said  a  word  to  Madame  d'Ayen  and  her  daughter. 

M.  Carrichon  continued,  sometimes  beside  them,  some- 
times a  little  in  advance.  By  the  Abbaye  de  St.  Antoine  he 
met  a  young  man  whom  he  knew,  a  priest  whose  integrity  he 
had  reason  to  suspect,  and  for  an  instant  was  in  great  fear  of 
being  recognized.  But  he  passed  without  notice,  and  at  last 
they  arrived  at  the  fatal  spot.  Then,  at  sight  of  the  guillo- 
tine, —  at  the  knowledge  that  in  a  few  minutes  more  all  these 
helpless  victims  of  blind  rage  would,  one  after  another,  pass 
out  of  life  under  the  pitiless  stroke  of  the  executioner, — a 
fresh  agony  of  horror  and  despair  swept  over  the  priest's  sad 
heart.  He  thought  most  of  those  he  knew  and  loved,  but  he 
thought  also  of  others  unknown  to  him,  men  and  women 
perishing  cruelly,  unavailingly,  in  their  prime,  —  of  the  chil- 
dren orphaned,  and  the  homes  made  desolate  forever. 

The  carts  stopped,  and  the  guards  surrounded  them,  with 
a  crowd  of  spectators,  for  the  most  part  laughing,  jesting, 
and  amusing  themselves  over  the  details  of  the  harrowing 
scene.  To  be  forced  to  see  it  all,  to  stand  among  them,  and 
to  listen  to  the  grim  ferocity  of  their  light  remarks,  was  an 
experience  whose  memory  a  man  might  well  carry  engraved 
on  his  heart  to  his  dying  day. 

While  the  executioner  was  helping  the  ladies  out  of  the 
first  cart,  Madame  de  Noailles'  eyes  were  seeking  for  the 
priest's  face,  and  having  found  it,  dwelt  there  with  looks  full 
of  sweet  gratitude  to  him  and  tender  farewell  to  all  those 
dear  ones  now  passed  out  of  her  sight  forever.  M.  Carrichon 
drew  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes,  so  as  to  attract  as  little 
notice  as  possible,  but  kept  them  fixed  on  her.  The  mob 
had  grown  satiated  with  the  sight  of  youth,  beauty,  and  in- 
nocence mounting  the  scaffold,  and  it  was  not  so  much 
these  characteristics  of  Louise  de  Noailles  that  attracted  its 
fickle  attention,  as  her  air  of  radiant  serenity,  the  expression 
of  a  soul  whose  triumphant  faith  had  looked  grim  Death  in 


DEATHS  IN  THE  LAFAYETTE  FAMILY.         399 

the  face  and  for  whom  its  bitterness  was  overpast.  "  Ah  ! 
see  that  young  one  !  how  content  she  is  !  How  she  lifts  her 
eyes  to  Heaven  !  How  she  prays  !  But  what  good  will  that 
do  her  ?  "  Then,  as  if  the  sight  of  a  spirit  in  that  frail  body 
which  they  could  not  break,  —  a  fortitude  and  courage  that 
they  could  not  conquer,  —  a  last  degradation  of  suffering 
that  they  could  not  inflict,  stirred  them  to  dull  fury,  came 
savage  jeers  at  those  supposed  to  love  their  priests,  "Ah  ! 
les  scelerats  de  calotins  I " 

The  last  farewells  were  then  exchanged,  and  the  final  act 
of  the  hideous  drama  was  played  out  under  the  priest's 
shrinking,  but  yet  fascinated  eyes.  He  left  the  spot  where 
he  had  been  standing,  and  went  round  to  the  other  side 
of  the  guillotine,  where  he  found  himself  facing  the  rough 
wooden  steps  that  led  up  to  the  scaffold.  Against  them 
leant  an  old  man,  with  white  hair,  a  fermier  general,  some 
one  said,  —  a  lady  he  did  not  know,  —  and  just  opposite  to 
him  the  old  Mare"chale  de  Noailles,  clad  in  black  taffetas,  was 
sitting  on  a  block  of  stone,  waiting,  with  fixed,  wide  open  eyes, 
for  her  turn  to  come.  All  the  others  were  ranged  in  two 
lines  on  the  side  looking  toward  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine. 
From  where  M.  Carrichon  now  stood  he  could  only  see 
Madame  d'Ayen.  Her  anxiety  was  at  rest  now,  and  her 
whole  attitude  expressed  a  simple  and  resigned  devotion  in 
the  sacrifice  she  was  about  to  offer  to  God  through  the  merits 
of  her  Saviour.  The  Marechale  de  Noailles  went  third  to 
that  altar  of  sacrifice.  The  executioners  had  to  cut  away 
part  of  her  dress  to  uncover  her  neck  sufficiently,  and  at 
this  point  the  priest  felt  an  intense  longing  to  go  away.  But 
he  determined  now  to  drink  the  cup  to  its  last  dregs,  to 
keep  his  word  to  the  bitter  end,  since  God  had  given  him 
strength  to  control  himself  even  while  shuddering  with  dread. 
Six  ladies  followed  her,  and  the  tenth  victim  was  Madame 
d'Ayen,  content  to  die  before  her  daughter,  as  the  daughter 
was  content  to  die  after  her  mother.  The  executioner  pulled 
off  Madame  d'Ayen's  cap,  and  as  there  was  a  pin  in  it  that 
she  had  forgotten  to  take  out,  he  wrenched  her  hair  violently, 
causing  a  sharp  expression  of  pain  to  cross  the  calm  face. 


4OO  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

And  then,  with  quickened  poignancy  of  emotion,  the  priest 
watched  Louise  de  Noailles'  slender  white  figure  mount  the 
steps.  "She  looked,"  he  says,  "much  younger  than  she 
really  was,  like  a  little  gentle  lamb,  going  to  the  slaughter." 
There  was  the  same  trouble  with  her  head-dress  as  with  her 
mother's,  but  in  a  moment  her  face  recovered  its  sweet  com- 
posure. "  Oh,  how  happy  she  is  now  !  "  cried  inwardly  the 
priest,  as  they  threw  her  body  down  into  its  ghastly  coffin. 
"  May  the  Almighty  and  Merciful  God  reunite  us  all  in  that 
dwelling  place  where  there  will  be  no  more  revolutions,  in 
a  country  '  which,'  as  Saint  Augustine  has  said,  '  will  have 
Truth  for  its  King;  Charity  for  its  Law;  and  Eternity  for 
its  duration  ! '  " 


BOOK    VII. 

LOUIS    XVII. 

t 

I.    THE  DAUPHIN  IN  THE  TEMPLE. 
II.    HISTORIC  DOUBTS  AS  TO  THE  FATE  OF  Louis  XVII. 
III.    THE  LOST  PRINCE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   DAUPHIN   IN  THE   TEMPLE.1 

rI^HE  interview  between  Marie  Antoinette,  M.  Grandidier, 
and  the  Commissioner  sent  from  Vienna  by  her  nephew, 
the  Emperor  of  Austria,  which  has  been  related  in  a  previous 
chapter,  was  but  a  few  days  after  her  separation  from  her 
son,  —  that  cruelest  of  all  cruelties,  —  which  took  place  July 
3,  1793.  No  wonder  that  the  unhappy  mother  was  reduced 
to  the  apathy  of  despair ;  no  wonder  that  she  refused  deliv- 
erance, since  it  would  deprive  her  of  the  last  sad  consolation 
of  being  at  least  near  to  her  son.  Here  is  the  account  of 
the  separation,  as  told  us  by  the  other  child-captive,  the  future 
Duchesse  d'Angouleme. 

"  The  municipal  officers  read  to  us  a  decree  of  the  Con- 
vention that  my  brother  should  be  separated  from  us.  As 
soon  as  he  heard  this,  he  threw  himself  into  the  arms  of  my 
mother  and  entreated  with  violent  cries  not  to  be  separated 
from  her.  My  mother  was  struck  to  the  earth  by  this  cruel 
order ;  she  would  not  part  with  her  son,  and  she  actually  de- 
fended, against  the  efforts  of  the  officers,  the  bed  on  which 
she  had  placed  him.  My  mother  exclaimed  that  they  had 
better  kill  her  than  tear  her  son  from  her.  An  hour  was 
spent  in  resistance  on  her  part,  in  threats  and  insults  from 
the  officers,  and  in  prayers  and  tears  on  the  part  of  us  all. 

1  See  note  to  Book  III.,  Chap.  VII. 
26 


4O2  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

At  last  they  threatened  the  lives  of  both  him  and  me,  and  my 
mother's  maternal  tenderness  at  length  forced  her  to  this 
sacrifice.  My  aunt  and  I  dressed  the  child,  for  my  poor 
mother  had  no  longer  strength  for  anything.  Nevertheless, 
when  he  was  dressed  she  took  him  in  her  arms,  and  delivered 
him  to  the  officers,  bathing  him  with  her  tears  and  fore- 
seeing that  she  should  never  see  him  again.  The  poor  Jittle 
fellow  embraced  us  all  tenderly,  and  was  carried  off  in  a 
flood  of  tears." 

The  princess  then  tells  us  that  her  heart-broken  mother 
never  looked  up  after  the  loss  of  her  son.  It  was  thus  that 
the  envoy  from  Austria  saw  her,  sitting  on  her  low  stool,  her 
face  the  picture  of  apathy.  About  a  month,  after  her  boy 
had  been  taken  away,  Marie  Antoinette  was  removed  to  the 
Conciergerie. 

The  two  princesses,  Madame  Elisabeth  and  the  princess 
royal,  were  left  sad  and  desolate  in  their  tower.  They  were 
kept  in  ignorance  of  the  queen's  condition,  but  knowing 
how  much  she  had  been  accustomed  to  beguile  her  sorrows 
by  work  they  sought  permission  to  send  her  some  materials. 
They  collected  all  the  silks  and  worsteds  they  could  find, 
and  also  a  pair  of  little  stockings  she  had  begun  to  knit  for 
the  dauphin.  But  these  things  she  was  not  permitted  to  have, 
under  pretense  that  she  might  kill  herself  with  the  knitting- 
needles.  The  queen's  industry,  however,  overcame  all  im- 
pediments. She  found  a  piece  of  old  carpet  in  her  cell 
which  she  unravelled,  and  by  means  of  two  bits  of  wood  she 
contrived  to  knit  these  ravellings  into  garters. 

Meantime  the  fair  child,  who  had  been  torn  from  his 
mother  and  friends,  was  going  through  a  course  of  misery 
and  debasementwhich  it  makes  the  blood  boil  to  read  about, 
and  its  details  need  not  be  repeated  here. 

There  has  always  been  great  doubt  whether  the  story  as 
told  of  his  life  in  prison  after  the  pth  Thermidor,  1794,  and 
his  death  on  June  8  of  the  succeeding  year,  is  altogether 
true.  Up  to  the  gth  Thermidor  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt 
what  has  been  told  us  of  him.  After  that  comes  the  doubt. 
'Within  the  last  three  years  especial  interest  has  been  roused 


/,<///..  .I/// 


LOUIS  XVII. 


THE  DAUPHIN  IN  THE    TEMPLE.  403 

on  the  subject  in  France  ;  and  "  Figaro  "  undertook  an  ex- 
amination of  the  question.  The  date  of  his  supposed  death 
was  June  8,  1795,  a  little  more  than  one  hundred  years  ago. 
The  story  as  it  has  commonly  been  told  and  believed  is  as 
follows. 

He  was  placed  under  the  care  of  a  fierce  Jacobin  cobbler 
and  his  wife.  Their  name  was  Simon.  This  man  at  once 
stripped  the  boy  of  the  suit  of  mourning  that  had  been  given 
him  for  his  father,  and  dressed  him  in  a  red  cap  and  a 
coarse  jacket,  called  a  carmagnole,  a  sort  of  sans-culotte 
uniform.  He  made  the  boy  drink  intoxicating  liquors ;  he 
taught  him  blasphemous  oaths  and  revolutionary  s^ngs,  and 
obliged  him  to  repeat  them  at  the  windows,  so  as  to  be 
heard  by  the  guards.  Often  he  would  rouse  him  in  the  night 
from  sleep  with  a  sudden  cry  of,  Capet!  eveille-toi!  In 
short,  no  pains  were  spared  to  vitiate  his  character  and  to 
destroy  his  health.  In  a  few  months  this  lovely  boy,  who 
had  been  gifted  by  nature  with  an  excellent  constitution, 
became  a  miserable  object,  diseased  and  stupefied  by  ill 
treatment.  He  suffered,  as  we  know  from  a  physician's 
report,  from  tumors  on  his  wrists  and  near  the  knees.  But 
he  must  have  retained  a  surprising  degree  of  firmness  for  a 
child  of  his  tender  years  if  the  following  anecdote  is  true. 

It  appears  that  his  artful  keepers  had  drawn  from  him 
some  expressions  which  they  chose  to  interpret  as  impeach- 
ing the  conduct  of  the  queen  and  Madame  Elisabeth,  and 
that  they  compelled  him  to  sign  a  deposition  against  them. 
The  boy  was  so  grieved  at  the  use  made  of  his  words  that 
he  formed  a  resolution  never  to  speak  again,  and  this  reso- 
lution he  persisted  in  for  a  considerable  time,  although 
threats  and  promises  of  fruit  and  toys,  and  everything  that 
could  be  most  tempting  to  a  child,  were  employed  to  make 
him  break  it. 

On  Jan.  19,  1794,  Simon,  who  until  then  had  been 
his  companion,  left  him,  and  the  princess  thus  continues  her 
narrative:  "  Unheard  of  —  unexampled  barbarity  !  To  leave 
an  unhappy  and  sickly  child  of  eight  years  old  alone  in  a 
great  room,  locked  and  bolted.  He  had  indeed  a  bell, 


404  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION, 

which  he  never  rang,  so  greatly  did  he  dread  the  people 
whom  its  sound  would  have  brought  to  him.  He  preferred 
wanting  anything  and  everything  to  summoning  his  perse- 
cutors. His  bed  was  not  stirred  for  six  months,  and  he 
had  not  strength  to  make  it  himself.  For  all  that  time  he 
had  no  change  of  shirt  or  stockings.  He  might  indeed  have 
washed  himself,  and  might  have  kept  himself  cleaner  than 
he  did,  for  he  had  a  pitcher  of  water,  but,  overwhelmed  by 
the  ill-treatment  he  had  received,  he  had  not  the  resolution 
to  do  so;  and  his  illness  began  to  deprive  him  of  the 
necessary  strength.  He  passed  his  days  without  any  occu- 
pation, and  in  the  evening  was  allowed  no  light.  His  situa- 
tion affected  his  mind  as  well  as  his  body." 

French  historians,  Lamartine  among  them,  speak  of  the 
child  as  at  this  time  reduced  to  imbecility. 

In  this  pitiable  condition  he  continued,  it  is  said,  to  exist 
until  November,  1794,  three  months  after  the  pth  Thermidor, 
which  occurred  in  July.  Then  the  arrival  of  two  new 
jailers  of  more  humane  dispositions  brought  about  an  ame- 
lioration of  his  unhappy  condition.  Their  first  care  was  to 
procure  him  another  bed,  and  one  of  them,  named  Gamier,1 
would  frequently  sit  with  him  whole  hours  to  amuse  him. 
The  poor  boy,  who  had  been  long  unused  to  kindness,  soon 
became  very  fond  of  him.  But  these  attentions  came  too 
late  to  save  his  life,  although  his  disease,  having  to  contend 
with  a  naturally  strong  constitution,  made  its  way  by  very 
slow  degrees,  and  he  lingered  until  June  8,  1795. 

Such  is  the  story  generally  received,  and  told  by  Gamier 
(alias  Gomin)  to  the  Duchesse  d'Angouleme,  who  took  him 
into  her  service  in  recognition  of  his  kindness  to  the  poor 
child.  But  who  shall  tell  us  that  the  child  Gamier  nursed, 
and  whom  no  doubt  he  genuinely  believed  to  be  the  son  of 
Louis  XVI.,  was  really  the  little  dauphin? 

M.  de  Beauchesne  has  written  a  book  on  Louis  XVII. 
which,  so  far  as  relates  to  the  fate  of  the  dauphin  after  Ther- 
midor, was  pronounced  forty  years  ago  by  one  who  had 
studied  the  subject  a  "  preposterous  fiction." 

1  A  name  given  in  three  ways,  —  Gamier,  Gomin,  and  Govin. 


THE  DAUPHIN  IN  THE    TEMPLE.  405 

However,  the  story  just  given  is  that  which  has  been 
commonly  received,  and  no  doubt  its  details  of  the  child's 
misery  up  to  Thermidor  are  correct,  as  is  Ue  Beauchesne's 
narrative  up  to  the  same  date.  But  the  next  chapter  will 
show  the  doubts  that  of  late  have  arisen  in  France,  and  give 
particulars  of  the  historic  doubts  thrown  on  the  same  subject 
forty-four  years  ago  in  America.  Before  proceeding  to 
detail  them,  I  should  like  to  give,  from  "  Harper's  Magazine," 
a  translation  that  I  made  some  years  since  of  a  noble  poem 
by  Victor  Hugo,  whose  mother  was  a  devout  Catholic  and 
a  royalist,  and  who  in  her  son's  youth  inspired  him  with 
some  of  her  ideas. 

LOUIS   XVII. 

Capet,  £veille-toi  ! 

HEAVEN'S  golden  gates  were  opened  wide  one  day, 
And  through  them  shot  a  glittering,  dazzling  ray 

From  the  veiled  glory,  through  the  shining  bars; 
Whilst  the  glad  armies  of  the  ransomed  stood 
Beneath  the  dome  of  stars. 

From  griefs  untold  a  boy-soul  took  its  flight ; 
Sorrow  had  dulled  his  eyes  and  quenched  their  light ; 

Round  his  pale  features  floated  golden  hair! 
See  !  virgin  souls  with  songs  of  welcome  stand, 
With  martyr  palms  to  fill  his  childish  hand, 

And  crown  him  with  that  crown  the  Innocents  shall  wear. 

Hark !  hear  th'  angelic  host  their  song  begin  : 
"  New  angel !  Heaven  is  open  ;  enter  in. 

Come  to  thy  rest ;  thine  earthly  griefs  are  o'er. 
God  orders  all  who  chant  in  praise  of  Him, 
Prophets,  archangels,  seraphim, 

To  hail  thee  as  a  king  and  martyr  evermore." 

"  When  did  I  reign?  "  the  gentle  spirit  cries. 

"  I  am  a  captive,  not  a  crowned  king. 
Last  night  in  a  sad  place  I  closed  my  eyes. 

When  did  I  reign  ?     Oh,  Lord,  explain  this  thing  1 
My  father's  death  still  fills  my  heart  with  fear. 

A  cup  of  gall  to  me,  his  son,  was  given. 
I  am  an  orphan.     Is  my  mother  here  ? 

I  always  see  her  in  my  dreams  of  heaven." 


406  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

The  angels  answered :  "  God,  the  wise  and  good, 
Dear  boy,  hath  called  thee  from  an  evil  world. 

A  world  that  tramples  on  the  blessed  Rood, 
Where  regicides  with  ruthless  hands  have  hurled 
Kings  from  their  thrones ; 

And  from  their  very  graves  have  tossed  their  mouldering  bones." 

"  What !  is  my  long,  sad,  weary  waiting  o'er  ? " 

The  child  exclaimed.     "  Has  all  been  suffered  then  ? 
Is  it  quite  true  that  from  this  time  no  more 

I  shall  be  rudely  waked  by  cruel  men  ? 
Ah !  in  my  prison  every  day  I  prayed 

1  How  long,  O  God !  before  some  help  will  come  ? ' 
Oh,  can  this  be  a  dream  ?     I  feel  afraid. 

Can  I  have  died,  and  be  at  last  at  home  ? 

"  You  know  not  half  my  griefs  that  long  sad  while ; 

Each  day  life  seemed  more  terrible  to  bear. 
I  wept,  but  had  no  mother's  pitying  smile, 

No  dear  caress  to  soften  my  despair. 

"  It  seemed  as  if  some  punishment  were  sent 

Through  me  some  unknown  sin  to  expiate. 
I  was  so  young  ;  ere  knowing  what  sin  meant, 

Could  I  have  earned  my  fate  ? 

"  Vaguely,  far  off  my  memory  half  recalls 

Bright,  happy  days  before  these  days  of  fear; 
Asleep,  a  glorious  murmur  seems  to  fall 

Of  cheers  and  plaudits  on  my  childish  ear. 
Then  I  remember  all  this  passed  away ; 

Mysteriously  the  brightness  ceased  to  be. 
In  prison  a  lone,  friendless  boy  I  lay, 

And  all  men  hated  me. 

"  My  young  life  in  a  living  tomb  they  threw. 

My  eyes  no  more  beheld  the  sun's  bright  beams ; 
But  now  I  see  you — angels  — brothers!  who 

So  often  came  to  watch  me  in  my  dreams. 
Men  crushed  my  life  in  th'iir  hard,  cruel  hands,  — 

But  they  had  wrongs.     Oh,  Lord,  do  not  condemn  I 
Be  not  as  deaf  as  they  were  to  my  prayers  I 

I  want  to  pray  for  them." 

The  angels  chanted  :  "  Heaven's  holiest  place 

Welcomes  thee  in.     We  '11  crown  thee  with  a  star ! 
Blue  wings  of  cherubim  thy  form  shall  grace 
On  which  to  float  afar. 


THE  DAUPHIN  IN  THE    TEMPLE.  407 

"  Come  with  us  :  thou  shalt  comfort  babes  who  weep 

In  unwatched  cradles  in  the  world  belqw; 
Or  bear  fresh  light  on  wings  of  glorious  sweep 
To  suns  that  burn  too  low." 

The  angels  paused.    The  child's  eyes  filled  with  tears ; 

On  Heaven  an  awful  silence  seemed  to  fall. 
The  Father  spake ;  and,  echoing  through  the  spheres, 
His  voice  was  heard  by  all. 

"  My  love,  dear  king,  preserved  thee  from  the  fate 
Of  earth-crowned  kings,  whose  griefs  thou  hast  not  known. 

Rejoice,  and  join  the  angels'  happy  hymns. 
Thou  hast  not  known  the  trials  of  the  great, 
Thy  brow  was  never  bruised  beneath  a  crown, 

Though  chains  were  on  thy  limbs. 
What  though  life's  burthen  crushed  thy  tender  frame, 
Child  of  bright  hopes  —  heir  of  a  royal  name  ? 

Better  to  be 

Child  of  that  Blessed  One  who  suffered  scorn, 
Heir  of  the  King  who  wore  a  Crown  of  Thorn, 
Hated  and  mocked  —  like  thee !  " 


CHAPTER  II. 

HISTORIC  DOUBTS   AS   TO   THE    FATE   OF   LOUIS  XVII. 


T^HE  story  of  the  dauphin's  imprisonment  as  it  has  been 
-•-  commonly  received  is  no  doubt  true  in  its  earlier  part  ; 
that  is,  until  the  removal  of  Simon  ;  but  ever  since  the  resto- 
ration of  Louis  XVIII.  there  have  been  rumors  that  the 
dauphin  was  secretly  conveyed  out  of  the  Temple  ;  and 
there  have  been  several  persons  who  claimed  to  be  the  dau- 
phin, notably  a  man  named  Naundorff,  calling  himself  by 
the  dauphin's  title  of  the  Duke  of  Normandy.  Recently 
the  question  has  been  revived  in  France,  and  has  created 
considerable  stir  there. 

It  can  easily  be  conceived  what  confusion  and  inconve- 
nience it  would  have  caused  in  France  and  in  French  politics, 
in  1814,  and  indeed  in  the  politics  of  the  whole  European 
world,  had  a  young  man  of  twenty-nine  suddenly  been  pro- 
duced as  the  lost  prince,  —  a  man  wholly  untrained  for  his 
position,  —  and  had  such  a  man  supplanted  his  uncle,  who, 
in  good  faith  (or  otherwise),  had  called  himself  Louis  XVIII. 
for  nineteen  years.  It  was  far  better  to  admit  no  doubt  of 
the  current  story,  to  suppress  all  contradictions,  to  disown  the 
pretenders  as  impostors,  but  never  to  investigate  their  tales. 
Nevertheless,  here  is  the  case  as  it  at  present  stands,  and  as, 
during  the  year  1895,  it  has  been  presented  to  the  French 
public.1  Some  persons  have  affirmed  their  conviction  of  the 
child's  escape,  and  identify,  him  with  the  unfortunate  Naun- 
dorff. Some  believe  in  the  escape,  but  not  in  Naundorff,  and 
say  that  it  was  a  political  necessity  that  the  child  whose  life  was 
saved  should  have  remained  anonymous,  —  lost  in  the  world's 

1  These  particulars  are  taken  from  the  "Supplement  Litteraire  du 
Figaro,"  June  8,  1895. 


THE  FATE   OF  LOUIS  XVII.  409 

crowd.  Some  again  think  that  the  Convention  did  not  let 
its  prey  escape,  and  that  the  child  died  in  the  Temple. 

The  necessity  that  the  Bourbons  on  their  restoration  should 
maintain  the  truth  of  this  last  story  was  forcibly  set  forth  by 
a  Prussian  named  Von  Rochow,  on  the  first  attempt  made 
by  Naundorff  to  establish  his  identity  with  Louis  XVII. 
"If  this  young  man  be  the  Dauphin  of  France,"  he  said, 
"  he  cannot  be  acknowledged  as  such,  because  that  acknowl- 
edgment would  be  to  the  dishonor  of  all  the  monarchies  of 
Europe." 

France,  in  1 794,  was  panting  for  peace.  The  eyes  of 
French  legitimists  were  fixed  upon  the  Temple,  where  lan- 
guished the  poor  child  under  whose  ancestors  France  had 
become  glorious  and  great.  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Provence 
had  been  accused,  even  in  his  brother's  lifetime,  of  designs 
to  seat  himself  on  the  French  throne.  His  ambition  and  his 
hopes  increased  in  proportion  as  the  fortunes  of  his  country 
grew  worse  and  worse,  and  he  kept  up  communication  with 
some  of  the  more  prominent  members  of  the  Convention. 

Barras  and  his  party,  of  course,  wished  to  retain  the  power 
that  had  fallen  to  them  on  the  death  of  Robespierre.  By 
conniving  at  the  escape  of  the  young  boy  (or  even  by  con- 
triving it)  Barras  could  please  Josephine  de  Beauharnais,  who 
at  that  time  had  an  all-powerful  influence  over  him,  and  the 
child,  should  he  be  produced  at  the  right  moment,  might 
checkmate  the  ambitious  projects  of  Louis  XVIII.  and 
serve  purposes  of  his  own. 

It  is  a  fact  that  on  the  very  night  of  his  triumph  on  the 
9th  Thermidor,  Barras  went  to  the  Temple  ;  that  he  there 
saw  the  child-king ;  that  the  very  next  day,  without  any 
communication  with  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety,  which, 
up  to  that  time,  had  controlled  affairs  in  the  prison,  he  as- 
signed a  retainer  of  his  own  to  be  superintendent  of  the 
prison,  Laurent,  a  man  born  in  Martinique  (Josephine's 
birthplace).  Laurent  turned  out  the  people  charged  with 
the  care  of  the  child  and  put  in  a  man  and  his  wife  named 
Lienard.  During  the  first  two  months  after  these  people 
came  to  the  Temple,  many  persons  saw  the  royal  child,  but 


410  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

none  of  them  have  ever  described  him  as  either  dumb  or 
scrofulous,  like  the  prisoner  who  died  the  next  year  on  the 
8th  of  June.  On  the  contrary,  they  all  spoke  of  him  as  a 
somewhat  delicate  child,  with  gentle  manners,  who  charmed 
all  of  them. 

But  suddenly,  instead  of  allowing  visitors  to  have  access  to 
him,  as  had  been  the  case  for  two  months  after  Thermidor, 
every  one  was  forbidden  to  see  him.  This  prohibition  corre- 
sponds with  two  curious  circumstances. 

Madame  Royale,  his  sister,  tells  us  that  on  the  last  night  of 
May,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  two  municipal  guards,  much 
excited,  forced  their  way  into  her  chamber.  They  said  nothing. 
All  they  wanted  apparently  was  to  see  if  she  was  there.  No 
such  -thing  happened  before  or  after  during  her  captivity. 
The  second  fact  is  that  a  week  later  another  man  replaced 
Laurent,  Govin  by  name.  Laurent  had  been  full  of  kind- 
ness for  the  captive  ;  Govin  ruled  him  by  fear.  About  the 
same  time  there  was  a  general  impression  among  the  under- 
lings of  the  Temple  that  something  strange  had  taken  place. 
The  fidelity  of  Laurent  was  called  in  question  in  the  Sections. 
An  official  connected  with  the  Temple  said  openly  that  it 
was  hard  for  the  guard  to  say  if  they  were  keeping  watch 
over  prisoners,  or  only  over  stones. 

All  those  who  served  in  menial  capacities  in  the  Temple 
were  changed,  some  of  them  at  the  request  of  Laurent,  who 
had  begun  his  service  July  27,  1794,  and  some  afterwards  by 
the  desire  of  Govin.  Up  to  this  man's  time  there  had  been 
a  daily  inspection  of  the  prison  and  the  prisoners  by  mem- 
bers of  the  Council-General  of  the  Commune.  This  inspec- 
tion was  replaced  by  a  daily  visit  from  a  deputation  from  the 
Sections,  taking  the  thirty-six  Sections  in  turn,  so  that  instead 
of  men  who  had  seen  the  prisoners  only  a  short  time  before, 
new  men  came,  who  were  not  likely  to  take  their  turn  again 
for  a  long  while. 

According  to  an  old  custom,  things  coming  into  the  Tem- 
ple were  not  examined,  —  only  those  that  went  out.  It  was 
easy  enough  therefore  to  bring  a  child  into  the  Tower  in  a 
clothes  basket,  and  this  was  done  probably  with  two  children, 


THE  FATE   OF  LOUIS  XVII.  411 

one  after  the  other,  while  the  yotmg  king  was  hidden  in  some 
secret  corner,  and  waited  on  by  the  scullion  Caron,  Li6nard, 
and  Laurent. 

This  is  the  only  way  to  account  for  the  sudden  dumbness 
of  the  child  in  prison,  which  took  place  not  in  consequence 
of  remorse  for  having  been  made  to  malign  his  mother,  but 
nine  months  after  the  Simons  had  been  removed  from  him 
t  and  kinder  jailers  had  taken  their  place.  The  first  child 
brought  in  to  take  the  place  of  the  young  captive  was  dumb. 
The  dauphin,  up  to  the  time  when  Laurent  gave  up  his  care 
of  him,  had  spoken  at  least  to  twenty  people.  But  the  child 
committed  to  Govin's  care  on  November  8,  1 794,  could  not 
speak  a  single  word.  There  are  plenty  of  official  documents 
and  depositions  on  this  subject,  the  most  important  of  which 
is  the  testimony  of  members  of  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety. 

By  reason  of  the  rumors  afloat  that  the  prince  had  dis- 
appeared, three  friends  of  Barras,  all,  like  him,  members  of 
the  Convention,  went  to  the  Temple.  They  passed  two 
hours  with  the  child.  They  questioned  him  with  the  utmost 
persistence  ;  but  they  obtained  neither  sign  nor  word.  They 
were  so  much  astonished  at  this  that  they  decided  to  make 
no  report  that  could  be  given  to  the  public,  but  reported  in 
secret  to  the  Committee  what  they  had  seen.  It  is  one  of 
these  men,  Harmand,  who  tells  us  this. 

Another  curious  circumstance  is  that  Harmand,  almost 
immediately  after  this  visit,  was  sent  away  as  delegate  to  the 
West  Indies.  Barras  himself  had  some  idea  of  accompanying 
him  on  this  mission.  It  looks  as  if  they  were  planning  to 
secure  their  own  safety  in  any  event,  or  as  if  it  had  been  in- 
tended to  send  the  child  to  some  French  colony  in  America. 

Both  Harmand  and  Barras  went  to  Brest,  stayed  there 
several  weeks,  and  then  returned  to  Paris. 

Another  series  of  strange  events  occurred  between  the 
3ist  of  March  and  the  8th  of  June,  1795,  the  date  of  the 
supposed  death  of  the  dauphin. 

Laurent  left  the  Temple.  It  was  said  that  he  too  was 
going  to  the  West  Indies  to  attend  to  family  affairs;  but 


412  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION, 

he  did  not  leave  Paris.  Some  time  later  indeed  he  went 
to  the  Windward  Islands,  on  a  mission  for  which  he  was 
well  paid  by  government.  But  by  that  time  Barras  was  a 
member  of  the  Directory,  and  Laurent  was  sent  on  the 
mission  at  his  recommendation.  A  new  turnkey  took  his 
place  at  the  Temple,  Etienne  Lasne,  a  house-painter. 

Govin  and  Laurent  had  had  under  their  care  for  six 
months  a  child  who  never  spoke  a  word.  The  child  con- 
fided  to  Lasne,  he  tells  us  himself,  could  chatter  like  a 
little  magpie.  Govin  had  nothing  more  to  do  with  the 
young  prince  (or  the  child  who  personated  him).  He 
was  transferred  to  the  service  of  Madame  Royale. 

On  June  8,  1795,  the  child  in  the  Temple  died.  It 
was  just  then  that  the  Committee  was  carrying  on  negotia- 
tions with  Spain  and  with  La  Vendee,  and  it  was  very 
desirable  for  all  parties  that  the  child-king  should  be  out 
of  the  way. 

There  is  mystery  even  as  to  what  this  child  died  of.  The 
dumb  child  had  the  rickets  (rachitis),  a  disease  that  begins 
in  infancy,  preventing  the  nourishment  of  all  the  tissues 
affecting  the  spinal  column  and  the  rest  of  the  bones.  There 
was  no  mention  in  his  case  of  scrofula,  but  the  second  child, 
the  chatterbox,  was  eaten  up  by  scrofula.  Three  doctors 
were  sent  to  see  him,  Desault,  Chopart,  and  Doublet.  It  is 
hinted  that  it  proved  a  dangerous  mission.  All  three  shortly 
after  died  suddenly.  The  principal  pupil  of  Desault,  Dr. 
Abeille,  went  off  to  America  for  safety,  and  subsequently 
affirmed  in  an  American  paper  ("The  Bee"),  that  his  master 
had  been  poisoned,  because  having  seen  the  prince  in  hap- 
pier times  he  had  not  recognized  him  in  the  child  he  was 
called  upon  to  visit  in  the  Temple,  and  had  had  the  impru- 
dence to  say  so.  Another  physician  and  Dr.  Desault's 
widow  have  made  a  similar  declaration. 

The  behavior  of  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety  was  also 
singular.  At  first  it  kept  the  death  a  secret.  Then  it  caused 
a.  post-mortem  examination  to  be  made  to  satisfy  those  who 
might  imagine  that  the  dauphin  had  died  a  violent  death. 
The  Convention  had  every  reason  for  wishing  to  establish, 


THE  FATE   OF  LOUIS  XVII.  413 

as  a  fact,  the  death  of  the  young  king ;  and  yqf  not  a  single 
person  who  had  ever  known  the  dauphin  living  was  called  to 
identify  the  dead  child's  remains,  though  his  sister  was  in  the 
Temple  and  members  of  the  Royal  Household  were  in  the 
power  of  the  authorities. 

The  only  people  summoned  to  identify  the  remains  were 
the  municipal  guards  on  duty  at  the  Temple,  about  twenty 
men,  and,  according  to  the  official  document,  "  the  greater 
part  attested  that  they  recognized  Little  Capet  because  they 
had  seen  him  formerly  at  the  Tuileries."  The  child  died  at 
the  age  of  ten,  and  for  five  years  before  his  death  he  had 
been  little  seen  by  the  Parisians,  the  queen  having  been  un- 
willing to  present  herself  with  her  children  before  the  public 
eye.  If  these  men  had  indeed  seen  the  dauphin  at  the  Tui- 
leries when  he  was  five  or  six  years  old,  what  was  the  worth 
of  their  recognition  of  the  dead  body  of  a  ten  years  old 
child  worn  out  by  suffering? 

The  prods  verbal — that  is,  the  official  document  concern- 
ing the  death  —  was  curiously  worded.  It  says  :  "  We  saw  on 
a  bed  the  dead  body  of  a  child,  who  appeared  to  us  about  ten 
years  old,  which  the  commissioner  told  us  was  that  of  the 
deceased  Louis  Capet."  It  went  on  to  say  that  the  scrofula 
must  have  been  of  long  standing,  but  mentions  no  marks 
about  the  body  which  all  the  court  knew  to  be  upon  the 
person  of  the  dauphin. 

The  man  who  announced  the  death  to  the  Convention  in 
the  name  of  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety  assured  his 
hearers  "  that  everything  had  been  verified  and  all  the 
documents  placed  in  their  archives." 

This  was  not  true.  No  one  has  ever  seen  the  originals  of 
these  documents.  A  copy,  on  a  loose  sheet  of  paper  (con- 
trary to  the  law  of  1792),  was  among  the  city  archives,  and 
was  burnt  up  when  the  Hotel  de  Ville  was  destroyed  by  the 
Communists  in  1872.  What  is  still  more  remarkable  is  that 
Govin  was  not  called  upon  to  sign  what  is  called  "the 
act  of  decease."  It  was  signed  by  one  Bigot,  a  man  totally 
unknown  to  the  public,  who  called  himself  "  a  friend  of  the 
King  of  France." 


414  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

The  interment  was  also  singular.  The  archivist  of  the 
police  affirmed  that  "  it  was  secret,  and  in  some  sort  clan- 
destine." But  Voisin,  undertaker  for  the  Section  of  the 
Temple,  says  :  — 

I.  That  the  coffin  was  not  closed  in  the  Temple. 

II.  That  the  four  men  who  were  concerned  in  the  burial 
died  sudden  and  mysterious  deaths. 

The  theory  advanced  is  that  while  the  coffin  lay  unclosed 
after  official  inspection  of  the  child  who  died  of  scrofula,  the 
real  prince,  who  had  been  hidden  away  in  some  corner  of 
the  Temple,  and  waited  on  by  Laurent  at  first,  and  after- 
wards by  some  other  man,  may  have  been  placed  in  the 
coffin,  and  so  carried  out  of  the  Temple.  The  coffin  was 
not  carried  in  a  hearse,  but  in  a  furniture  wagon.  The  child 
may  have  been  taken  out  of  it  on  the  way  to  the  cemetery, 
and  something  heavy  substituted.  A  watch  for  three  days 
was  placed  over  the  graveyard. 

An  old  Member  of  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety  has 
affirmed  in  writing  that  the  boy  who  died  of  scrofula  was 
secretly  buried  at  the  foot  of  one  of  the  towers  of  the 
Temple  ;  and  General  d'Andignd,  seven  years  later,  being 
confined  in  the  Temple  and  permitted  to  amuse  himself 
with  gardening,  testifies  that  he  found  there  a  small  skeleton, 
that  had  been  buried  in  quicklime. 

The  names  of  the  two  children  substituted  for  the  prince 
are  known.  M.  Charles  Tardif  twice  affirmed  that  he  fur- 
nished the  dumb  boy.  As  to  the  scrofulous  child  who  died 
June  8,  1795,  his  mother,  Mademoiselle  Lamonger,  fled  with 
another  child,  a  daughter,  to  Martinique,  the  native  island 
of  Josephine  de  Beauharnais,  and  they  did  not  come  back 
to  France  as  long  as  the  Bourbons  were  in  power. 

All  these  things  did  not  take  place  without  rousing  sus- 
picion. Children  were  arrested  on  the  roads  out  of  Paris 
under  the  idea  that  they  might  be  the  dauphin.  The  leaders 
of  the  royalist  party  in  La  Vendee  refused  to  believe  in  his 
death,  and  would  not  acknowledge  Louis  XVIII.  as  their 
king.  Charette,  the  Vendean  leader  at  that  date,  thus  apos- 
trophizes Louis  XVII.,  in  a  celebrated  order  to  his  forces : 


THE  FATE   OF  LOUIS  XVII.  415 

"  Hardly  by  the  fall  of  Robespierre  wast  thou  delivered  from 
the  ferocity  of  the  extreme  Jacobins,  when  thou  becamest 
the  victim  of  thy  natural  defenders." 

But  what,  then,  became  of  Louis  XVII.  ? 

The  political  party  which  in  i  795  succeeded  the  Reign  of 
Terror,  and  the  Provisional  Government  of  the  Commune 
of  Paris,  was  willing  enough  to  favor  the  child's  escape. 
A  time  might  come  when  in  their  hands  he  might  be  played 
off  against  Louis  XVIII.  But  his  existence  and  recognition 
were  above  all  unwelcome  to  his  uncle  and  his  partisans. 
The  Due  de  Bourbon,  prince  of  the  blood,  writes  thus  to 
Cond£  :  "  Rumors  are  becoming  rife  that  the  little  king  did 
not  die  in  the  Temple.  True  or  false,  this  would  be  for  us 
a  serious  embarrassment,  if  the  rumors  should  take  any 
consistency." 

In  the  camp  of  the  emigres  at  Coblentz  were  numerous 
noblemen  and  gentlemen  whose  lands  had  been  confiscated, 
and  who  had  accustomed  themselves  to  look  to  the  Comte  de 
Provence  as  the  man  who  would  restore  them.  They  could 
make  no  use  of  a  child  ten  years  of  age  as  an  active  head  of 
their  party.  Far  better  for  them  that,  if  living,  his  existence 
should  be  denied.  They  had  accustomed  themselves  to 
speak  of  Louis  XVI.  with  small  respect,  and  to  place  all  their 
hopes  upon  his  brother.  Goguelat  (the  unlucky  Goguelat 
of  the  Flight  to  Varennes)  who  had  escaped  to  Coblentz, 
wrote  :  "  I  never  heard  Louis  XVI.  spoken  of  with  so  much 
irreverence  as  by  these  men.  They  call  him  a  poor  creature, 
a  mere  chip ;  a  bigot  only  good  to  say  his  prayers.  And 
their  opinions,  I  am  told,  emanate  from  the  personal  follow- 
ers of  Monsieur,  who  has  set  them  afloat." 

Had  Louis  XVII.  suddenly  appeared  among  his  supporters 
even  in  La  Vende'e,  their  first  enthusiasm  would  soon  have 
been  damped  by  a  feeling  of  his  uselessness  to  help  their 
cause. 

The  child  would  have  been  unwelcome  to  the  Allies,  even 
to  Austria,  whose  ministers,  as  we  have  seen,  were  eager  to 
make  peace.  Louis  XVIII.,  who  hated  Marie  Antoinette,  had 
not  scrupled  long  before  to  hint  that  he  believed  her  son  to 


41 6  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

be  a  bastard.  He  would  certainly  have  treated  him  as  such 
had  he  fallen  into  his  hands.  Clearly  the  best  thing  to  be 
done  with  the  poor  child  was  to  hide  him  away  till  the  time 
came  for  the  restoration  of  the  monarchy,  which  Barras,  in 
common  with  most  men,  believed  to  be  at  hand.  Then  he 
could  be  played  off  against  Louis  XVIII.  Barras  could  not 
foresee  the  ten  years  of  the  Empire  that  would  precede  the 
Restoration,  or  imagine  that  his  friend  Josephine  (in  posses- 
sion of  his  State  secret,  if  not,  indeed,  his  partner  in  it)  would 
be  seated  on  a  throne  as  empress  of  half  Europe. 

The  paper  from  which  this  account  is  copied  gives  a 
whole  column  to  the  names  of  persons  who  have  testified  to 
some  knowledge  of  the  substitution  of  other  children  for 
Louis  XVII.,  and  of  his  being  spirited  away  from  the  Temple. 
Among  these  names  is  that  of  a  Marquise  de  Broglie-Solari, 
attached  to  the  household  of  Marie  Antoinette,  and  to  that 
of  the  Princesse  de  Lamballe.  This  lady  testified  that  she 
heard  it  in  1803  from  Barras,  and  in  1819  and  1820  from 
Queen  Hortense,  the  daughter  of  Josephine. 

There  is  reason  to  think  that  Josephine  knew  the  story 
and  believed  it.  Of  late  years  papers  have  been  written  to 
attribute  her  sudden  and  somewhat  mysterious  death  to 
that  inconvenient  knowledge. 

The  paper  from  which  I  have  copied  these  details  be- 
lieves that  Naundorff,  the  soi-disant  Duke  of  Normandy, 
may  have  been  Louis  XVII. ;  but  it  owns  that  there  are 
important  links  wanting  in  his  story  between  1795  and 
1810. 

The  Comtesse  d'Adhdmar,  e\-datne  du  palais  of  Marie 
Antoinette,  wrote:  "Assuredly  I  do  not  wish  to  multiply 
the  chances  of  impostors,  but  in  writing  this  in  the  month 
of  May,  1799,  I  certify,  on  my  soul  and  conscience,  that 
I  am  positively  certain  that  Sa  Majeste'  Louis  XVII.  did 
not  die  in  the  Temple." 

The  Duchesse  d'Angouleme  was  never  convinced  of 
her  brother's  death,  though  she  was  obliged,  from  motives 
of  policy,  to  acquiesce  in  the  view  taken  by  the  male 
members  of  her  family.  The  Vicomte  de  Rochejacquelin 


:\ 


DUCHESSE  D'ANGOULEME. 


I 

THE  FATE    OF  LOUIS  XVII.  417 

wrote  to  her  on  the  subject :  "  Though  we  may  believe 
that  the  unhappy  child  was  withdrawn  from  the  cruelty 
of  his  persecutors,  and  that,  to  save  his  life,  he  was 
obliged  to  live  in  obscurity,  such  a  life  would  make  him 
little  suitable  to  be  recognized  as  heir  to  the  French 
monarchy ;  and,  in  short,  in  the  condition  of  Europe,  it  is 
quite  conceivable  that  it  would  have  been  useless  to  bring 
forward  Louis  XVII.,  and  that  his  death,  and  the  deaths 
of  those  that  supported  him,  would  have  been  the  con- 
sequence." 

It  is  said  that  to  the  Treaty  of  1814  between  France  and 
the  Allies,  which  restored  Louis  XVIII.  to  the  throne,  there 
was  this  secret  article  :  — 

"  The  contracting  parties  reserve  their  liberty  to  assist  in 
mounting  on  the  French  throne  him  who  they  may  conceive 
has  the  more  legitimate  right  to  it." 

It  is  certain  that  Josephine  said  to  the  Emperor  Alexander, 
"  You  may  re-establish  royalty,  but  you  will  not  re-establish 
legitimacy."  A  peer  of  France  has  recorded  in  his  souve- 
nirs that  in  April,  1814,  one  month  before  the  death  of  the 
Empress  Josephine,  he  had  seen  documents  "  which  con- 
tained secrets  calculated  to  upset  European  diplomacy,  if 
they  ever  came  to  light."  He  implored  Josephine  to  destroy 
them. 

"  No,"  she  said  ;  "  my  resolution  is  fixed.  I  shall  com- 
municate these  papers  to  the  Emperor  Alexander.  He  is 
just,  I  know,  and  will  wish  that  everything  should  be  put  in  its 
right  place  (sera  mis  dans  son  rang).  He  will  look  after  the 
interests  of  an  unfortunate  young  man."  "  I  made  no  further 
objection,"  added  the  narrator.  "  Josephine  acted  as  she 
thought  best,  and  told  what  it  had  been  better  for  her  to  have 
kept  secret.  .  .  .  Her  sudden  death,  a  week  after,  took  an 
important  witness  out  of  the  way." 

It  may  be  added  that  on  the  very  night  of  her  death, 
which  the  three  physicians  who  attended  her  attributed  to 
poison,  all  her  papers,  on  a  frivolous  pretext,  were  seized 
by  the  police,  and  the  larger  part  of  them  were  never 
restored. 

27 


I 

418  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

As  soon  as  the  empress  was  dead,  it  was  rumored  in 
Paris  that  she  had  known  the  circumstances  of  the  dauphin's 
disappearance  from  the  Temple ;  that  she  had  even  had 
a  hand  in  it ;  and  that  in  a  secret  interview  with  the  Em- 
peror Alexander  it  had  been  agreed  between  them  that  the 
affairs  of  France  should  be  provisionally  settled  until  the  son 
of  Louis  XVI.  should  be  discovered,  when  the  Emperor 
Alexander  "  reserved  to  himself  the  right "  to  do  him  the 
justice  that  was  legitimately  his  due.  With  this  the  secret 
clause  in  the  Treaty  of  1814,  already  quoted,  would  seem  to 
agree. 

Louis  Blanc  says :  "  After  the  Restoration,  which  placed 
Louis  XVIII.  on  the  throne,  the  recovery  of  Louis  XVII. 
would  have  caused  incalculable  embarrassments.  This  being 
the  case,  a  government  by  no  means  scrupulous  could  very 
easily  overlook  family  considerations,  in  virtue  of  reasons  of 
state,  whether  it  knew  the  truth,  or  preferred  to  ignore  it." 

The  most  remarkable  proof  that  Louis  XVIII.  did  not 
believe  in  his  nephew's  death  was,  that  when  he  raised 
the  Chapelle  Expiatoire  to  the  memory  of  Louis  XVI.  and 
Marie  Antoinette,  he  took  no  notice  of  the  death  of  Louis 
XVII.  But  the  Duchesse  d'Angouleme  seems  always  to 
have  had  it  in  her  heart  that  she  might  recover  traces  of  her 
lost  brother.  Not  that  it  would  have  been  in  her  power  to 
do  anything  to  restore  him  to  his  position  :  and  her  acknowl- 
edgment of  his  rights  would  have  destroyed  those  of  her 
husband,  her  father-in-law,  her  uncle,  and  her  great-nephew, 
the  Due  de  Bordeaux. 

On  leaving  the  Temple  in  1 796  the  princess  wrote  to  her 
uncle,  speaking  of  the  Jacobins,  "  They  have  compassed  the 
deaths  of  my  father,  and  my  mother,  and  my  aunt."  She 
does  not  mention  her  brother.  Again  in  i8oi,when  General 
d'Andigne  had  discovered  the  little  skeleton  in  the  Temple 
garden,  and  was  anxious  to  speak  of  it  to  the  Duchesse 
d'Angouleme,  he  was  not  permitted  to  have  an  interview 
with  her.  She  told  Comte  de  Feys  when  search  was  being 
made  for  the  dauphin's  body  in  the  Cemetery  of  Ste.  Mar- 
guerite, "  that  from  the  first  she  had  not  been  sure  of  her 


THE  FATE   OF  LOUIS  XVII.  419 

brother's  death  in  the  Temple,  but  that  she  at  last  knew  what 
had  become  of  him." 

There  was  not  only  no  monument  erected  to  Louis  XVII. 
in  the  Chapelle  Expiatoire,  but  a  funeral  service  to  his 
memory,  that  was  to  have  taken  place  at  St.  Denis,  was 
never  held.  The  Bishop  of  Moulins  has  told  us  that  his 
father  (at  that  time  Grand  Master  of  Ceremonies),  having 
asked  Louis  XVIII.  the  reason,  received  this  answer,  "  We 
do  not  feel  sure  of  the  death  of  my  nephew." 

There  was  a  superstition  among  the  French  clergy  that  all 
the  misfortunes  that  fell  fast  on  the  Royal  Bourbons  after 
their  restoration  were  a  judgment  upon  them  for  the  non- 
recognition  of  Louis  XVII.  The  Secretary- General  of  the 
Diocese  of  Strasburg  said  that  the  certainty  Monsignor  Tarin 
had  of  the  existence  of  Louis  XVII.  led  him  to  give  up  his 
position  as  tutor  to  the  Due  de  Bordeaux.  "  Monsignor," 
said  the  Marquis  de  Nicolai,  one  day  to  him,  "  the  royal 
family  believes  as  much  as  you  or  I  do  that  Louis  XVII. 
is  still  living." 

Of  course  many  pretenders  appeared  after  the  Restoration. 
The  most  plausible  one  was  Naundorff,  —  soi-disant  Duke  of 
Normandy,  who  revealed  himself  to  Silvio  Pellico  in  their 
prison  at  Turin,  and  whose  history  forms  an  interesting 
chapter  in  Pellico's  sad  but  delightful  book  "  Le  mie  Prigioni." 

In  the  days  of  Louis  Philippe  a  pale,  quiet,  gentleman- 
like man,  with  a  somewhat  Bourbon  expression  of  counte- 
nance, might  be  seen  in  legitimist  salons,  treated  with  respect 
as  the  lost  king.  He  had  indeed  some  of  the  marks  on  his 
person  known  to  have  been  on  that  of  the  poor  little 
dauphin,  but  not  on  the  body  of  the  scrofulous  child  who 
represented  him  in  the  Temple.  He  did  not  attempt  to 
conceal  that  he  had  worked  at  watchmaking  in  Switzerland, 
or  that  he  had  been  several  times  in  prison.  He  spoke 
French  with  a  strong  German  accent,  and  was  a  Protes- 
tant. "  More  shame  to  the  Church,"  said  a  French  writer 
who  believed  in  him,  "that  she  had  not  come  forward  to 
protect  him  from  error." 

He  had  married  the  uneducated  daughter  of  a  Prussian 


420  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

corporal,  and  had  several  vulgar  children.  He  was  com- 
pelled by  the  police  to  leave  France,  and  took  refuge  in 
England. 

As  Duke  of  Normandy,  he  was  often  to  be  seen  in  Hyde 
Park.  He  pursued  some  scientific  labors  at  Woolwich  in 
shells  and  artillery.  He  got  into  trouble  at  last  with  the 
London  police,  and,  with  his  family,  crossed  to  Holland, 
where  he  died  at  Delft  in  1841. 

As  I  have  said,  I  do  not  think  that  Naundorff  was  the 
dauphin,  though  many  persons,  in  their  certainty  that  the 
dauphin  had  not  died  in  the  Temple,  and  their  uncertainty 
as  to  what  had  become  of  him,  believed  in  him  as  such. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   LOST   PRINCE. 

A  S  preliminary  to  this  chapter  I  venture  to  relate  an 
^*-  experience  of  my  own.  In  the  autumn  of  1841,  when 
I  was  a  young  girl  of  nineteen,  I  came  out  to  Boston  to  spend 
the  winter  with  my  father's  and  mother's  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
George  Ticknor,  and  to  go  into  society  with  their  daughter, 
a  debutante,  somewhat  younger  than  myself.  The  happiness 
of  that  delightful  visit  this  is  not  the  place  to  dwell  upon. 

Some  weeks  before  Christmas  it  was  announced  that  the 
Prince  de  Joinville,  who,  after  bringing  back  the  body  of 
Napoleon  from  St.  Helena  a  year  before,  had  brought  his 
ship,  the  "  Belle  Poule,"  to  America,  was  coming  to  Boston.  A 
great  ball  was  to  be  given  to  him  and  his  officers  in  Faneuil 
Hall,  and  the  young  girls  in  good  society  were  much  elated 
at  the  prospect.  The  day  fixed  upon  drew  near.  The  of- 
ficers of  the  '"Belle  Poule  "  assembled  in  Boston,  but  there  was 
no  prince,  —  no  certain  news  of  him.  Where  could  he  be? 
His  officers,  on  being  questioned,  could  only  say  that  they 
believed  him  to  be  in  western  New  York,  near  the  frontier 
of  Canada.  Had  he  gone  on  a  hunting  expedition?  Very 
probably.  But  the  impression  left  on  many  minds  was  that 
as  the  Prince  de  Joinville  was  at  that  day  credited  with  being 
a  fire-eater,  and  especially  an  enemy  to  John  Bull,  he  might 
be  making  some  sort  of  warlike  reconnaissance  along  the 
Canadian  border.  At  any  rate  there  was  mystery  in  his  pro- 
ceedings ;  his  movements  were  kept  secret  both  as  regarded 
the  public  and  his  own  officers. 

The  day  before  the  ball  arrived ;  still  no  prince !  How 
could  we  have  the  ball  without  him  ?  Speculation  and  ex- 
pectation rose  high  among  us.  On  the  morning  of  the  ball, 
however,  we  heard  that  the  prince  had  arrived. 


422  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

It  was  a  beautiful  ball,  —  I  think  the  most  beautiful  ball  I 
ever  attended,  with  its  chalked  floor,  its  tricolor  decorations, 
and  its  admirable  music.  Fifty-seven  years  have  passed  since 
then,  but  I  well  recall  the  scene,  and  now  proceed  to  give  an 
answer  to  the  question  then  asked  on  all  sides,  but  never 
answered  till  1853,  when  the  celebrated  paper,  "  Have  we  a 
Bourbon  among  us?"  appeared  in  "Putnam's  Monthly," 
then  a  new  magazine.  Where  was  the  prince  while  we  were 
all  so  anxiously  expecting  him  ? 

He  was  off  at  Green  Bay,  Wisconsin,  seeking  an  interview 
with  the  Rev.  Eleazer  Williams.  Here  is  Mr.  Williams's  own 
account  of  what  passed  between  him  and  the  Prince  de 
Joinville  :  — 

"  In  October,  1841,  I  was  on  my  way  from  Buffalo  to 
Green  Bay,  and  took  a  steamer  from  the  former  place  bound 
to  Chicago,  which  touched  at  Mackinac  and  left  me  there  to 
wait  the  arrival  of  the  steamer  from  Buffalo  to  Green  Bay. 
Vessels  which  had  recently  come  in  announced  the  speedy 
arrival  of  the  Prince  de  Joinville  ;  public  expectation  was  on 
tiptoe,  and  crowds  were  on  the  wharves.  The  steamer  at 
length  came  in  sight,  salutes  were  fired  and  answered,  the 
colors  run  up,  and  she  came  into  port  in  fine  style.  Imme- 
diately she  touched,  the  prince  and  his  retinue  came  on  shore 
and  went  out  some  little  distance  from  the  town,  perhaps  half 
a  mile,  to  visit  some  natural  curiosities  in  the  neighborhood, 
—  the  Sugar  Loaf  Rock  and  the  Arch  Rock.  The  steamer 
awaited  their  return.  During  their  absence  I  was  standing 
on  the  wharf  among  the  crowd,  when  the  captain,  John 
Shook,  now  at  Huron,  Ohio,  who  will  confirm  my  statement,1 
came  up  to  me  and  asked  whether  I  was  going  to  Green 
Bay,  adding  that  the  Prince  de  Joinville  had  made  inquiries 
of  him  concerning  a  Rev.  Mr.  Williams,  and  that  he  had  told 
the  prince  he  knew  such  a  man,  referring  to  me,  who  he  sup- 
posed must  be  the  man  the  prince  meant,  though  he  could 
not  imagine  what  the  prince  could  know  or  want  of  me.  I 
replied  to  the  captain  in  a  laughing  way,  without  having  an 
idea  of  the  deep  meaning  attached  to  my  words :  '  Oh,  I 
i  And  did  so  fully.  —  E.  W.  L. 


REV.  ELEAZER  WILLIAMS. 


THE  LOST  PRTNCE.  423 

am  a  great  man,  and  great  men  will  of  course  seek  me.' 
Soon  after  this  the  prince  and  his  suite  arrived  and  went  on 
board.  I  did  the  same,  and  the  steamer  put  to  sea.  It  was, 
I  think,  about  two  o'clock  when  we  left  Mackinac.  When  we 
were  fairly  on  the  water  the  captain  came  to  me  and  said, 
'  The  prince,  Mr.  Williams,  requests  me  to  say  that  he  desires 
to  have  an  interview  with  you,  and  will  be  happy  to  have  you 
either  to  come  to  him,  or  allow  me  to  introduce  him  to  you.' 
'  Present  my  compliments  to  the  prince,'  I  said, '  and  say  that 
I  put  myself  entirely  at  his  disposal,  and  will  be  proud  to 
accede  to  whatever  may  be  his  wishes  in  the  matter.'  The 
captain  retired,  and  soon  returned,  bringing  the  Prince  de 
Joinville  with  him.  I  was  sitting  at  the  time  on  a  barrel. 
The  prince  not  only  started  with  evident  and  involuntary 
surprise  when  he  saw  me,  but  there  was  great  agitation  in  his 
face  and  manner,  —  a  slight  paleness  and  a  quivering  in 
the  lip,  —  which  I  could  not  help  remarking  at  the  time,  but 
which  struck  me  more  forcibly  afterwards,  in  connection  with 
the  whole  train  of  circumstances,  and  by  contrast  with  his 
usual  self-possessed  manner.  He  then  shook  me  earnestly 
and  respectfully  by  the  hand,  and  drew  me  immediately  into 
conversation.  The  attention  which  he  paid  me  seemed  to 
astonish  not  only  myself  and  the  passengers,  but  also  the 
prince's  retinue.  At  dinner  there  was  a  separate  table  for 
the  prince  and  his  companions,  and  he  invited  me  to  sit  with 
them,  and  offered  me  the  place  of  honor  at  his  side,  but  I 
begged  the  prince  to  excuse  me  and  permit  me  to  dine  at 
the  ordinary  table  with  the  other  passengers ;  which  accord- 
ingly I  did.  After  dinner  the  conversation  turned  between 
us  on  the  first  French  settlements  in  America,  the  valor  and 
enterprise  of  the  early  adventurers,  and  the  loss  of  Canada  to 
France,  of  which  the  prince  expressed  deep  regret.  In  the 
course  of  his  remarks,  —  though  in  what  connection  I  can- 
not now  say,  —  he  told  me  he  had  left  his  suite  at  Albany, 
taken  a  private  conveyance,  and  gone  to  the  head  of  Lake 
George.  He  was  very  copious  and  fluent  in  speech,  and  I 
was  surprised  at  the  good  English  he  spoke,  —  a  little  broken, 
indeed,  like  mine,  but  still  very  intelligible.  We  continued 


424  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

talking  late  into  the  night,  reclining  in  the  cabin  on  the 
cushions  at  the  stern  end  of  the  boat.  When  we  retired  to 
rest  the  prince  lay  on  the  locker,  and  I  in  the  first  berth  next 
to  it.  The  next  day  the  steamer  did  not  arrive  at  Green 
Bay  till  about  two  o'clock,  and  during  most  of  that  time  we 
were  in  conversation.  Looking  back  thoughtfully  at  what 
was  said,  I  can  now  perceive  that  the  prince  was  preparing 
my  mind  for  what  was  to  come  at  last,  although  then  the  dif- 
ferent subjects  seemed  to  arise  naturally  enough.  At  first 
he  spoke  on  the  condition  of  affairs  in  the  United  States 
and  in  the  American  Revolution.  He  expressed  admiration 
of  our  institutions,  and  spoke  at  large  of  the  assistance  that 
had  been  rendered  to  the  colonies  in  their  struggle  with  the 
mother-country,  by  Louis  XVI.  He  said  that  he  did  not 
think  sufficient  gratitude  was  evinced  by  Americans  to  that 
monarch,  and  that  whenever  his  intervention  was  alluded  to, 
it  was  attributed  to  selfish  motives  and  to  a  desire  to  humble 
the  power  of  England  on  the  continent  by  depriving  her  of 
her  fairest  colonial  possessions  ;  but  that  in  his  opinion  Louis 
XVI.  felt  a  true  regard  for  America,  and  that  on  every  return 
of  the  Fourth  of  July,  when  throughout  the  United  States  the 
nation  was  celebrating  its  independence,  there  should  be  an 
especial  salute  fired  to  the  memory  of  the  king  who  had  con- 
tributed so  much  to  the  result.  Such  was  the  substance  of 
what  was  said  by  the  prince  on  that  subject.  He  then  turned 
to  the  French  Revolution,  and  said  that  Louis  XVI.  was 
innocent  of  any  tyrannical  ideas  towards  the  people  of  France, 
and  that  nothing  he  had  done  personally  could  justify  or  ex- 
cuse the  excesses  of  the  Revolution  ;  that  the  last  foundations 
of  that  event  were  laid  in  the  preceding  reign,  and  that  the 
misconduct  and  misgovernment  of  Louis  XV.  were  charge- 
able to  a  very  great  extent  with  the  sad  events  that  had 
occurred,  although  the  storm  had  been  slowly  brewing  for 
centuries.  The  people  of  France,  though  they  had  no  just 
cause  to  complain  personally  of  Louis  XVI.,  had  a  right  to 
do  so  of  the  oppressive  institutions  then  existing,  of  the 
tyranny  of  the  aristocracy,  and  of  the  burdens  laid  upon 
them  by  the  Church.  He  then  referred  to  the  change 


THE  LOST  PRINCE. 


425 


that  had  since  taken  place  in  the  form  of  government,  and 
to  the  present  amelioration  of  the  condition  of  the  French 
people,  under  an  elective  monarchy.  On  our  arrival  at 
Green  Bay,  the  prince  said  I  would  oblige  him  by  accom- 
panying him  to  his  hotel  and  taking  up  rny  quarters  at  the 
Astor  House.  I  begged  to  be  excused,  as  I  wished  to  visit 
my  father-in-law.  He  replied  that  he  had  some  matters  of 
great  importance  that  he  wished  to  speak  to  me  about,  and 
that  as  he  could  not  stay  long  at  Green  Bay,  but  would  take 
his  departure  the  next  day  or  the  day  after,  he  wished  I  would 
comply  with  his  request.  A  number  of  persons  were  at  the 
Astor  House  waiting  to  see  the  prince,  so  I  declined  to  re- 
main, but  promised  to  return  in  the  evening,  when  he  would 
be  more  private.  I  did  so,  and  on  my  return  found  the 
prince  alone,  with  the  exception  of  one  attendant,  whom  he 
dismissed.  The  gentlemen  of  the  party  were  in  an  adjoining 
room,  laughing  and  carousing,  and  I  could  distinctly  hear 
them  during  my  interview  with  the  prince.  He  opened  the 
conversation  by  saying  that  he  had  a  communication  to  make 
to  me  of  a  very  serious  nature  as  concerned  himself,  and 
of  the  last  importance  to  me ;  that  it  was  one  in  which  no 
others  were  interested,  and,  therefore,  before  proceeding 
further  he  wished  to  obtain  some  pledge  of  secrecy,  some 
promise  that  I  would  not  reveal  to  any  one  what  he  was 
going  to  say.  I  demurred  to  any  such  conditions  being  im- 
posed previous  to  my  being  made  acquainted  with  the  nature 
of  the  subject,  as  there  might  be  something  in  it,  after  all,  pre- 
judicial and  injurious  to  others,  and  it  was  at  length,  after 
some  altercation,  agreed  that  I  should  pledge  my  honor  not 
to  reveal  what  the  prince  was  going  to  say,  provided  there 
was  nothing  in  it  prejudicial  to  any  one ;  and  I  signed  a 
promise  to  this  effect  on  a  sheet  of  paper.  It  was  vague  and 
general,  for  I  would  not  tie  myself  down  to  absolute  secrecy, 
but  left  the  matter  conditional.  When  this  was  done,  the 
prince  spoke  to  this  effect :  — 

"  '  You  have  been  accustomed,  sir,  to  consider  yourself  a 
native  of  this  country  ;  but  you  are  not.  You  are  of  foreign 
descent.  You  were  born  in  Europe,  sir,  and,  however  in- 


426  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

credible  it  may  at  first  seem  to  yon,  I  have  to  tell  you  that 
you  are  the  son  of  a  king.  There  ought  to  be  much  conso- 
lation to  you  to  know  this  fact.  You  have  suffered  a  great 
deal,  and  have  been  brought  very  low,  but  you  have  not 
suffered  more,  or  been  more  degraded,  than  my  father,  who 
was  long  in  exile  and  in  poverty  in  this  country ;  but  there 
is  this  difference  between  him  and  you,  that  he  was  all  along 
aware  of  his  high  birth,  whereas  you  have  been  spared  the 
knowledge  of  your  origin.' 

"  When  the  prince  had  said  this  I  was  much  overcome,  and 
thrown  into  a  state  of  mind  which  you  can  easily  imagine. 
In  fact,  I  hardly  knew  what  to  do  or  say,  and  my  feelings 
were  so  much  excited  that  I  was  like  one  in  a  dream,  and 
much  was  said  between  us  of  which  I  can  give  but  an  indis- 
tinct account.  However,  I  remember  that  I  told  him  his 
communication  was  so  unexpected  and  so  startling  that  he 
must  forgive  me  for  being  incredulous,  and  that  really  I  was 
between  two.  '  What  do  you  mean/  he  said,  (  by  being 
"  between  two  "  ?  ' 

"  I  replied  that,  on  the  one  hand,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
he  could  scarcely  believe  what  he  said ;  and,  on  the  other, 
I  feared  he  might  be  under  some  mistake  as  to  the  per- 
son. He  assured  me,  however,  that  he  would  not  trifle  with 
my  feelings  on  such  a  subject,  but  that  he  spoke  the  simple 
truth,  and  that  in  regard  to  the  identity  of  the  person  he  had 
ample  means  in  his  possession  to  satisfy  me  that  there  was 
no  mistake  in  that  respect.  I  then  requested  him  to  pro- 
ceed with  the  disclosure  already  partly  made,  and  to  inform 
me  in  full  of  the  secret  of  my  birth.  He  replied  that  in 
doing  so  it  was  necessary  that  a  certain  process  should  be 
gone  through,  in  order  to  guard  the  interests  of  all  parties 
concerned.  I  inquired  what  kind  of  process  he  meant? 
Upon  this  the  prince  rose  and  went  to  his  trunk,  which  was 
in  the  room,  and  took  from  it  a  parchment,  which  he  laid  on 
the  table,  and  set  before  me  that  I  might  read,  and  give  him 
my  determination  with  regard  to  it.  There  was  also  on  the 
table  pen  and  ink,  and  wax,  and  he  placed  there  three 
governmental  seals  of  France,  —  one,  if  I  mistake  not,  of 


THE  LOST  PRINCE. 


427 


the  old  monarchy.  It  was  of  precious  metal,  but  whether 
of  gold  or  silver,  or  a  compound  of  both,  I  cannot  say,  for 
my  mind  was  so  bewildered  and  agitated  and  engrossed  with 
one  absorbing  question  that  things  which  at  another  time 
would  have  made  a  strong  impression  on  me  were  scarcely 
noticed,  though  I  must  confess  that  when  I  knew  the  whole, 
the  sight  of  that  seal,  put  before  me  by  a  member  of  the 
family  of  Orleans,  stirred  my  indignation. 

"  The  document  which  the  prince  placed  before  me  was 
very  handsomely  written  in  double  parallel  columns  of 
French  and  English.  I  continued  intently  reading  and 
considering  it  for  a  space  of  four  or  five  hours.  During 
this  time  the  prince  left  me  undisturbed,  remaining  for 
the  most  part  in  the  room ;  but  he  went  out  three  or  four 
times. 

"The  purport  of  the  document,  which  I  read  repeatedly 
word  by  word,  comparing  the  French  with  the  English,  was 
this  :  it  was  a  solemn  abdication  of  the  crown  of  France 
in  favor  of  Louis  Philippe,  by  Charles  Louis,  the  son  of 
Louis  XVI.,  who  was  styled  Louis  XVII.,  King  of  France 
and  Navarre,  with  all  accompanying  names  and  titles  of 
honor,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  old  French  mon- 
archy, together  with  a  minute  specification  in  legal  phrase- 
ology of  the  conditions,  considerations,  and  provisos  upon 
which  the  abdication  was  made:  These  conditions  were,  in 
brief,  that  a  princely  establishment  should  be  secured  to  me, 
either  in  France  or  in  this  country,  at  my  option,  and  that 
Louis  Philippe  would  pledge  himself  on  his  part  to  secure 
the  restoration,  or  the  equivalent  for  it,  of  all  the  private 
property  of  the  royal  family,  rightfully  belonging  to  me, 
which  had  been  confiscated  in  France  during  the  Revolu- 
tion, or  in  any  way  got  into  other  hands.  Now  you  may 
ask  me  why  I  did  not  retain  at  all  hazards  this  document,  or 
at  any  rate  take  a  copy  of  it.  A  day  or  two  afterwards  all  such 
points  came  to  my  mind,  but  at  the  moment  I  thought  of 
nothing  except  the  question  of  acceptance  or  rejection. 
And  then,  remember  the  sudden  manner  in  which  this  whole 
affair  came  upon  me,  and  the  natural  timidity  and  bashful- 


428  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

ness  of  one  who  had  always  considered  himself  of  most  ob- 
scure rank,  when  called  without  preparation  to  discuss  such 
topics  with  a  man  of  high  position  like  the  prince.  Besides 
which,  my  word  of  honor  had  been  so  lately  pledged,  and  a 
sense  of  personal  dignity  excited  by  the  disclosures  of  the 
prince,  so  that  I  never  so  much  as  thought  of  taking  any 
advantage  of  the  circumstances,  but  only  whether  I  should 
sign  my  name  and  set  my  seal  to  a  deliberate  surrender  of 
my  rights  and  those  of  my  family.  It  was  a  deeply  painful 
and  harrowing  time,  and  I  cannot  describe,  nor  could  any 
one  imagine,  how  I  felt  when  trying  to  decide  this  question. 
At  length  I  made  my  decision  and  rose  and  told  the  prince 
that  I  had  considered  the  matter  fully  in  all  its  aspects,  and 
was  prepared  to  give  him  my  definite  answer.  Then  I  went 
on  to  say  that  whatever  might  be  the  personal  consequences 
to  myself,  I  felt  that  I  could  not  be  the  instrument  of  barter- 
ing away,  with  my  own  hand,  the  rights  pertaining  to  me  by 
my  birth,  and  sacrificing  the  interests  of  my  family,  and  that 
I  could  only  give  to  him  the  answer  made  by  the  Comte 
de  Provence  to  the  ambassadors  of  Napoleon  at  Warsaw, 
'Though  I  am  in  poverty  and  exile,  I  will  not  sacrifice  my 
honor.' 

"  The  prince  upon  this  assumed  a  loud  tone  and  accused 
me  of  ingratitude  in  trampling  on  the  overtures  of  the  king, 
his  father,  who,  he  said,  in  making  the  proposal,  was  actu- 
ated more  by  feelings  of  pity  and  kindness  towards  me  than 
by  any  other  consideration,  since  his  claim  to  the  French 
throne  rested  on  an  entirely  different  basis  to  mine,  —  not 
that  of  hereditary  descent,  but  of  popular  election.  When 
he  spoke  in  this  strain  I  spoke  loud,  too,  and  said  that  as  he 
by  his  disclosure  had  put  me  in  the  position  of  a  superior,  I 
must  assume  that  position,  and  frankly  say  that  my  indigna- 
tion was  stirred  by  the  memory  that  one  of  the  family  of 
Orleans  had  imbrued  his  hands  in  my  father's  blood,  and 
that  another  now  wished  to  obtain  from  me  an  abdication  of 
the  throne. 

"  When  I  spoke  of  superiority  the  prince  immediately  as- 
sumed a  respectful  attitude,  and  remained  silent  for  several 


THE  LOST  PRINCE.  429 

minutes.  It  had  now  grown  very  late,  and  we  parted  with 
a  request  from  him  that  I  would  reconsider  the  proposal  of 
his  father,  and  not  be  too  hasty  in  my  decision.  I  returned 
to  my  father-in-law's,  and  the  next  day  saw  the  prince  again, 
and  on  his  renewal  of  the  subject  gave  him  a  similar  answer. 
Before  he  went  away,  he  said,  '  Though  we  part,  I  hope  we 
part  friends.' 

"  For  years  I  said  little  on  the  subject,  until  I  received  a 
letter  in  1848  from  Mr.  Kimball,  dated  at  Baton  Rouge,  in- 
forming me  that  a  Frenchman  named  Bellenger  had  made  a 
statement  on  his  deathbed  that  he  had  brought  the  dauphin, 
son  of  Louis  XVI.,  from  France,  and  placed  him  at  the 
north  among  the  Indians.  And  then  when  this  report  came 
from  the  south  confirming  what  the  prince  had  said,  the  thing 
seemed  to  me  to  assume  a  different  aspect.  Mr.  Kimball's 
letter  is,  I  think,  among  my  papers  at  Green  Bay  ;  but  at  any 
rate  I  have  for  years  kept  a  minute  journal  of  everything 
that  has  occurred  to  me,  and  I  have  no  doubt  I  have  an 
abstract  of  it  at  Hogansburg." 

Such  is  Mr.  Williams's  story,  given  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hanson 
in  the  presence  of  Dr.  Hawks,  the  eloquent  preacher  and 
historian,  in  Dr.  Havvks's  study  in  New  York,  in  1852. 

Of  Mr.  Williams,  Dr.  Hawks  says :  "  I  know  him  very 
well.  He  is  a  clergyman  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church, 
whose  labors  have  been  almost  entirely  those  of  a  missionary 
among  the  Indians.  He  is  of  good  standing  as  a  clergyman, 
and  is  esteemed  a  man  of  truth  among  his  acquaintance, 
and  those  with  whom  he  has  longest  lived,  all  bearing  abun- 
dant and  satisfactory  testimony  that  Mr.  Williams  has  al- 
ways been  considered  a  worthy  and  truthful  man.  I  may 
add  to  this  my  own  statement  that  in  all  my  intercourse  with 
him  I  have  never  found  reason  to  doubt  the  correctness  of 
his  neighbors  and  acquaintance,  in  their  testimony  to  his 
character  as  stated  above. 

"  From  personal  knowledge  I  am  able  to  say  that  there  is 
a  remarkable  simplicity  both  of  manner  and  character  in  Mr. 
Williams.  He  possesses  an  ordinary  share  of  intellectual 
power,  with  but  little  quickness,  however,  of  grouping  facts 


43 O  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

that  bear  on  a  central  point,  and  is  without  much  readiness  in 
deducing  conclusions  from  them.  He  is  incapable  of  fram- 
ing a  mass  of  circumstantial  testimony,  made  up  of  a  com- 
bination of  many  isolated  facts.  To  do  this  requires  genius 
and  a  high  inventive  faculty. 

"  Indeed,  nothing  has  struck  me  more  forcibly  in  the  con- 
versations I  have  had  with  Mr.  Williams  on  the  facts  recorded 
in  Mr.  Hanson's  narrative  than  his  seemingly  entire  non- 
perception  of  the  bearing  of  many  facts  therein  as  testimony, 
and  their  coincidence  with  other  events  known  to  him,  until 
these  were  pointed  out  to  him.  And  sometimes  he  could 
not  be  made,  even  then,  to  comprehend  readily  the  indi- 
cated relations.  When,  however,  he  did  comprehend  the 
relations,  his  countenance  would  light  up  with  a< smile,  and  he 
would  say,  '  I  see  it  now,  but  I  never  saw  it  before.' 

"  I  have  found  him  uniformly  amiable  and  gentle  in  man- 
ner, and  to  all  appearance  a  truly  pious  man. 

"  In  short,  a  knowledge  of  the  man  has  seemed  to  me  to 
be  an  important  part  of  the  story  he  tells  ;  his  temperament, 
disposition,  mental  operations,  etc.,  all  go  to  establishing  one 
of  the  facts  explanatory  of  some  of  the  particulars  in  the 
narrative. 

"  Whether  the  historical  problem  presented  by  Mr.  Hanson 
be  here  solved,  is  a  matter  which  I  will  not  undertake  to 
decide.  The  only  points  on  which  I  would  speak  with  cer- 
tainty are  two  :  first,  Mr.  Williams  is  not  an  Indian,  and, 
secondly,  he  is  not  able  to  invent  a  complicated  mass  of  cir- 
cumstantial evidence  to  sustain  a  fabricated  story." 

We  may  now  ask  what  was  the  history  of  Mr.  Williams? 
He  was  brought  when  a  child  about  ten  years  old,  by  two 
Frenchmen,  one  a  layman,  the  other  apparently  a  Roman 
Catholic  priest,  to  Ticonderoga,  where  was  a  settlement  of 
Iroquois  Indians,  and  he  was  adopted  into  the  family  of 
Thomas  Williams,  an  Indian  with  white  blood  in  his  veins. 
A  short  time  before  that  a  Frenchman  and  a  lady  had  visited 
Albany  with  a  boy  and  girl  in  their  company.  The  boy 
they  called  Monsieur  Louis ;  and  he  was  non  compos  mentis, 


THE  LOST  PRINCE.  431 

as  was  the  child  shortly  after  confided  to  Thomas  Williams, 
who  in  this  state  continued  till  he  was  thirteen  or  fourteen 
years  of  age. 

"Have  you  no  memory,"  he  was  asked  more  than  fifty 
years  later,  "  of  what  happened  in  Paris,  or  on  your  voyage 
to  this  country?"  "Therein,"  he  replied,  "is  the  mystery 
of  my  life.  Everything  that  occurred  to  me  is  blotted  out, 
erased  entirely,  irretrievably  gone.  My  mind  is  a  blank  till 
I  was  thirteen  or  fourteen  years  of  age.  You  must  imagine  a 
child  who,  as  far  as  he  knows  anything,  was  an  idiot,  destitute 
even  of  consciousness  that  can  be  remembered  at  that 
period.  He  was  bathing  in  Lake  George  among  a  group  of 
Indian  boys.  He  clambered  with  the  fearlessness  of  idiocy 
up  to  the  top  of  a  high  rock.  He  plunged  down  head  fore- 
most into  the  water.  He  was  taken  up  insensible  and  laid 
in  an  Indian  hut.  He  was  brought  to  life.  He  was  con- 
scious of  blue  sky,  mountains,  and  waters.  That  was  the  first 
I  knew  of  life."  Still,  vague  dreamy  memories  in  after  years 
would  sometimes  seem  to  cross  his  mind,  as  when  a  por- 
trait of  Simon  was  once  shown  him  carelessly.  He  becarne 
greatly  excited  and  cried  out,  "  My  God  !  I  know  that  face. 
It  has  haunted  me  all  my  life." 

The  story  of  the  boy's  idiocy  and  recovery  was  well 
known  among  the  Indians  and  white  men  of  that  region, 
and  has  been  corroborated  abundantly. 

The  Williams  family,  with  whom  the  boy  was  placed,  had 
a  singular  history.  In  1704  the  Rev.  John  Williams,  a 
Puritan  minister  at  Deerfield,  Massachusetts,  was  captured 
with  all  his  family  by  French  and  Indians,  and  carried  to 
the  neighborhood  of  Montreal.  They  all  returned  to  civiliza- 
tion except  one  daughter,  Eunice,  who  married  an  Indian 
chief;  by  him  she  had  two  daughters,  Mary  and  Catherine, 
and  a  son  John.  Mary  married  an  English  surgeon  named 
Ezekiel  Williams.  They  had  one  son  Thomas,  their  only 
child.  His  parents  dying  when  he  was  young,  he  was  cared 
for  by  his  aunt  Catherine,  and  was  considered  an  Indian  of  the 
Iroquois  tribe,  by  virtue  of  his  descent  from  his  grandfather. 
He  attached  himself  to  the  Iroquois,  renouncing  civilized 


432  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

life.  He  married  a  full-blooded  Indian  woman,  and  had 
eleven  children  besides  Eleazer,  who  was  reputed  to  be  his 
son,  and  as  such  was  brought  up  by  him.  All  the  undoubted 
children  of  Thomas  Williams  were  strongly  marked  Indians, 
notwithstanding  the  white  blood  in  their  veins.  They  bore 
not  the  slightest  resemblance  to  Eleazer. 

After  some  time  a  proposition  was  made  by  the  Williams 
family  in  Massachusetts  to  pay  for  the  education  of  one  of 
the  boys.  John  was  sent  to  Long  Meadows  in  Massa- 
chusetts, to  a  certain  Deacon  Ely,  and  Eleazer  went  with 
him'.  Every  six  months  the  bills  for  Eleazer's  board  and 
tuition  were  promptly  and  punctually  paid  by  a  different 
agent  from  the  one  who  paid  -the  bills  of  John  Williams. 

John,  Indian-like,  did  not  take  kindly  to  education  and 
civilization,  and  was  at  last  sent  home  as  unmanageable ;  but 
Eleazer  became  a  pet  in  the  village.  It  was  a  common  re- 
mark that  he  looked  more  like  a  Frenchman  than  an  Indian. 
His  skin  was  fair,  and  his  eyes  hazel.  Though  generally 
lively  and  cheerful,  he  was  subject  to  fits  of  thoughtfulness 
and  abstraction  very  unusual  in  a  boy.  He  would  at  times 
sink  into  deep  revery,  and  when  asked  the  cause  he  would 
reply  that  there  were  painful  ideas  about  his  childhood  which 
he  could  neither  get  rid  of  nor  understand. 

On  one  occasion,  according  to  a  certificate  given  by  an  old 
lady  in  1853,  she  remarked  two  scars  upon  his  face,  and  on 
saying  she  supposed  that  he  had  got  them  in  his  infancy,  he 
replied  that  they  seemed  to  be  connected  in  his  mind  with 
painful  images  which  he  did  not  like  to  dwell  on  and  could 
not  comprehend. 

Years  before  it  had  been  told  in  an  obscure  book  con- 
cerning the  life  of  the  dauphin  in  the  Temple,  that  Simon, 
one  day,  when  preparing  to  beat  his  little  prisoner,  snatched 
a  towel  from  the  wall  so  roughly  that  he  pulled  out  a  large 
nail.  When  with  the  towel  he  struck  the  child  blows  across 
the  face,  this  nail  inflicted  two  deep  wounds  exactly  where 
scars  remained  visible  on  the  face  of  Mr.  Williams.  It  seems 
also  that  when  the  child  was  confided  to  the  care  of  Thomas 
Williams  and  his  wife,  two  boxes  of  clothing  and  ether  ob- 


THE  LOST  PRINCE. 


433 


jects  which  might  have  identified  him  were  left  with  them. 
One  of  these  boxes  was  carried  off  by  one  of  his  reputed 
sisters  on  her  marriage,  and  cannot  be  recovered.  The 
other  was  removed  by  persons  of  influence  to  Montreal, 
where  it  is  probably  now  in  possession  of  the  Roman  Catho- 
lic authorities.  In  this  box  are  known  to  have  been  three 
coins,  —  one  gold,  one  silver,  and  one  copper;  probably 
coronation  medals  struck  at  the  coronation  of  Louis  XVI. 
and  Marie  Antoinette. 

After  Eleazer  recovered  his  reason  and  before  he  was  sent 
to  school,  two  French  gentlemen  visited  Thomas  Williams  at 
St.  Regis.  They  sat  together  on  a  log  while  the  boys  were 
playing  in  a  little  canoe  on  the  water.  Attracted  by  the 
dress  of  the  strangers,  the  lads  landed  and  drew  near  them, 
when  Williams  called  Eleazer  from  the  group.  One  French- 
man and  Williams  got  up  and  went  away,  leaving  the  boy 
with  the  other  Frenchman,  who  was  fondling  him  as  he  stood 
between  his  knees.  The  stranger  wept  and  seemed  greatly 
affected.  He  examined  scars  on  the  boy's  knees  and  talked 
to  him  a  great  deal  in  French,  of  which  Eleazer  did  not 
understand  a  word.  Shortly  after  this  interview  arrangements 
were  made  for  sending  him  to  school  in  Massachusetts. 

The  Williams  family  and  the  Indians  among  whom  they 
lived  at  St.  Regis  were  Roman  Catholics,  but  Eleazer's 
education  and  associations  in  Massachusetts  made  him  a 
Protestant.  It  may  be  here  remarked  en  passant,  that  in  the 
Parish  Register  of  St.  Regis,  where  the  births  and  baptisms 
of  the  eleven  children  of  Thomas  Williams  and  his  wife  are 
carefully  recorded,  there  is  no  mention  of  Eleazer,  nor  is 
there  any  space  between  the  births  of  boys  born  about  1785 
for  the  birth  of  another  boy  to  have  occurred. 

Eleazer's  conversion  to  Protestantism  was  highly  displeas- 
ing to  the  clergy  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Diocese  of  Montreal, 
and  especially  to  Father  Marcoux,  the  parish  priest  of 
Caughnawaga,  to  which  place  the  Williams  family  removed. 
Many  efforts  were  made  to  bring  him  back  into  the  fold,  and 
promises  of  high  and  rapid  preferment  were  made  to  him  ii' 
he  would  enter  the  priesthood. 

28 


434  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

Caughnawaga  is  a  straggling  Indian  village  on  the  St. 
Lawrence  within  sight  of  Montreal. 

Eleazer  continued  his  studies  until  the  War  of  1812  broke 
out  with  England,  when  he  was  appointed  confidential  agent 
and  Superintendent-General  of  the  Northern  Indian  Depart- 
ment. During  the  war  he  continued  actively  employed  in 
the  service  of  the  United  States,  and  fought,  among  other 
places,  at  the  battle  of  Plattsburg,  where  in  1814  he  was 
wounded.  General  Cass  strongly  commended  him  to  the 
consideration  of  the  Hon.  John  Eaton,  then  Secretary  of 
War,  adding,  "  He  is  a  gentleman  of  education  and  talents, 
and  from  his  position  and  associations  can  render  important 
services  to  the  government  and  the  Indians." 

During  the  war  Eleazer  Williams,  having  had  frequent  occa- 
sion to  visit  Albany,  became  acquainted  with  Lieutenant- 
Governor  Taylor,  and  with  some  clergymen  of  the  Protestant 
Episcopal  Church.  On  the  conclusion  of  the  war  he  became 
intimate  with  Bishop  Hobart,  who  ordained  him  in  1826,  after 
he  had  been  lay  reader  and  missionary  among  the  Indians  at 
Oneida  and  Green  Bay  for  about  ten  years. 

In  the  year  1823  he  married  Miss  Mary  Hobart  Jourdan 
of  Green  Bay,  a  beautiful  woman,  a  relative  of  Marshal  Jour- 
dan,  who  under  the  French  Republic  conquered  Belgium, 
and  some  German  possessions  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Rhine. 
They  had  three  children,  but  in  1853  only  one  of  them 
survived. 

Green  Bay,  where  the  Rev.  Eleazer  Williams  long  resided, 
is  a  small  town  in  the  wilderness,  having  a  palisade  fort. 
The  town  is  surrounded  by  a  few  Indian  settlements.  St. 
Regis  and  Hogansburg,  where  Mr.  Williams  ministered,  were 
both  miserable,  lonely  spots.  The  missionary  received  no  pay 
from  the  Indians,  but  had  a  small  stipend  from  the  Missionary 
Committee.  The  rigors  of  the  climate  are  excessive,  the 
thermometer  being  not  unfrequently  30°  below  zero.  "  One 
can  hardly  fancy  a  situation  more  lonely,  more  unfriended, 
more  desolate.  Mr.  Williams  lives  on  the  Indian  reservation, 
a  wild  tract  of  woodland  partially  cleared  here  and  there  at 
the  edges.  Dead  evergreen  swamps,  rude  fences,  half  pros- 


THE  LOST  PRINCE.  435 

trate,  surround  his  abode.  There  lives  his  reputed  mother, 
whom  he  tenderly  treats  as  if  she  were  his  parent.  He  has 
no  church  building,  but  is  trying  to  erect  at  least  a  school- 
room on  the  Indian  reservation."  Thus  writes  one  who 
visited  the  place  in  1853. 

In  this  place  Mr.  Williams  resided,  earnest  in  his  missionary 
labors,  but  occasionally  visiting  Boston  and  New  York  on 
business  connected  with  his  mission,  until  Oct.  18,  1841, 
when  his  peace  was  broken  up  by  his  meeting  with  the  Prince 
de  Joinville.  From  1808  Mr.  Williams  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  keeping  a  daily  journal,  a  practice  copied  from  Deacon 
Ely.  By  1853  this  journal  amounted  to  many  manuscript 
volumes.  On  Oct.  18,  1841,  he  records  his  meeting  with 
the  Prince  de  Joinville  and  an  interesting  conversation  with 
him  about  the  French  in  America  and  the  French  Revolu- 
tion. On  October  19,  he  writes  that  the  prince  offered  to 
take  his  son  to  Europe  and  provide  for  his  education,  also 
on  hearing  of  a  baby  newly  born  that  he  proposed  to  give 
her  his  mother's  name,  Marie  Amelie,  and  to  stand  her  god- 
father. Then  in  the  evening  came  the  revelation,  received 
by  the  astonished  missionary  with  feelings  he  recorded  in 
his  journal.  Here  are  part  of  the  words  in  which  he  con- 
fided his  thoughts  to  those  secret  pages  :  — 

"  Although  the  unexpected  intelligence  is  a  new  source  of 
trouble  which  is  already  working  in  my  inward  soul  with 
inexpressible  trouble,  which  will  accompany  me  to  my  grave, 
yet  I  trust  that  the  Almighty  arm,  which  has  hitherto  sustained 
me,  will  now  protect  me.  To  the  God  of  my  salvation  I  fly 
for  comfort  and  consolation  in  th'is  hour  of  my  distress.  Let 
Christ  be  all  in  all.  Saviour  of  the  world,  have  mercy  upon 
Thy  unworthy  servant,  and  for  the  glory  of  Thy  name  turn 
from  him  all  those  evils  that  he  most  justly  has  deserved,  and 
grant  that  in  all  his  troubles  he  may  put  his  whole  trust  and 
confidence  in  Thy  mercy,  and  evermore  serve  Thee  in  holiness 
and  purity  of  living  to  Thine  honor  and  glory.  All  that  I 
have  heard  I  will  lay  up  in  my  heart  with  the  utmost  secrecy." 
And  he  did  so,  not  even  for  a  long  time  telling  his  wife. 

Meantime  he  had  an  autograph  letter  from  Louis  Philippe, 


436  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

thanking  him  for  his  kindness  to  the  prince  his  son,  and  two 
or  more  letters  from  the  prince's  secretary  relating  to  docu- 
ments bearing  on  the  French  settlements  in  Canada,  which 
Mr.  Williams  had  forwarded  to  Europe  for  him.  In  1848, 
as  I  have  said,  he  was  startled  by  receiving  a  letter  from 
Baton  Rouge,  informing  him  that  a  Frenchman  named 
Bellenger  had  just  died  there,  confessing  on  his  death-bed 
that  it  was  he  who  had  brought  the  dauphin  to  America  and 
left  him  among  the  Indians,  adding  that  he  had  taken  the 
most  solemn  oaths  not  to  reveal  what  he  had  done  with  the 
child,  but  that  times  were  altered,  he  was  on  his  death- 
bed, and  he  did  not  like  to  die  with  the  weight  of  the 
secret  he  had  kept  for  years. 

In  1853  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hanson,  becoming  interested  in 
the  story,  which  had  begun  to  leak  out  in  newspaper 
paragraphs,  met  Mr.  Williams.  He  was  immediately  much 
struck  by  his  appearance,  as  indeed  all  men  were  who 
saw  him.  His  features  were  decidedly  European,  also  his 
air  and  carriage.  His  face  was  rather  heavily  moulded  and 
also  characterized  by  the  full  protuberant  Austrian  lips. 
His  eyes  were  hazel,  his  hair  dark,  soft,  and  tinged  with 
gray.  His  eyebrows  were  full,  and  of  the  same  color. 
Over  the  left  eye  was  a  scar.  His  nostrils  were  large  and 
finely  cut,  and  he  was  inclined  to  embonpoint,  —  a  char- 
acteristic of  the  Bourbons. 

My  husband,  Mr.  Randolph  B.  Latimer,  a  few  months 
before  our  marriage  was  introduced  to  the  Rev.  Eleazer 
Williams.  The  interview  made  a  great  impression  on  him  ; 
he  wrote  me  a  full  account  of  it  at  the  time,  and  has  repeated 
what  he  then  told  me  for  insertion  in  this  volume  :  — 

"  About  the  time  that  the  question  '  Is  there  a  Bourbon 
among  us  ? '  was  being  discussed  in  this  country,  it  was  an- 
nounced that  the  Rev.  Eleazer  Williams  would  preach  on 
Sunday  evening  at  Mr.  Killin's  Church  on  West  Lexington 
Street,  Baltimore.  I  was  interested  in  the  subject,  had  read 
a  great  deal  about  it,  and  determined  to  go  and  see  the  sup- 
posed Louis  XVII.  and  hear  him  preach.  In  the  vestibule 
of  the  church  I  met  Mr.  Killin,  whom  I  knew  personally,  and 


THE  LOST  PRINCE. 


437 


he  was  accompanied  by  a  tall,  portly,  fine-looking  man  in  the 
plain  costume  of  an  Episcopalian  clergyman.  Instantly  I 
recognized  him  as  the  supposed  Bourbon,  and  made  him  a 
bow,  .which  he  returned  most  graciously.  As  he  remained  in 
the  vestibule  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  off  him,  and  could 
see  in  his  face,  figure,  and  manner  nothing  of  the  half-breed 
Indian,  which  some  claimed  he  was,  but  a  very  decided  re- 
semblance to  the  portraits  of  Louis  XVI.  and  other  members 
of  the  Bourbon  family ;  in  fact,  I  could  not  help  thinking 
that  had  he  been  clad  in  royal  robes  he  would  have  '  looked 
every  inch  a  king.'  His  sermon  was  a  plain,  practical  one, 
his  language  simple,  and  his  pronunciation  rather  more 
French  than  English,  such  as  might  be  expected  from  a  man 
who  had  passed  his  life  doing  missionary  work  among  .the 
Indians  and  half-breeds  along  our  Canadian  border,  where 
French  was  used  quite  as  much  as  English.  His  apparent 
age  corresponded  with  what  would  have  been  that  of  the 
unfortunate  prince,  and  I  came  away  satisfied  that  he  was 
the  real  Bourbon.  His  claim  to  the  throne  of  France  might 
have  been  substantiated,  but  he  had  no  desire  to  raise  it,  and 
preferred  the  simple,  useful  life  in  which  he  lived  and  died." 

The  publication  of  Mr.  Hanson's  article,  "  Have  we  a 
Bourbon  among  us?"  in  "Putnam's  Magazine,"  Febru- 
ary, 1853,  containing  Eleazer  Williams'  own  account  of  the 
revelation  of  the  Prince  de  Joinville,  naturally  demanded 
either  the  silence  that  gives  consent,  or  some  kind  of  denial. 
This  the  prince  himself  has  never  made,  but  he  instructed 
one  of  his  secretaries  to  write  to  Mr.  Putnam,  saying  he  had 
indeed  met  an  Indian  missionary,  whose  name  he  had  for- 
gotten, on  his  way  to  Green  Bay,  whither  he  went  to  make 
historical  researches,  and  that  they  had  had  an  interesting 
conversation  on  the  boat  concerning  French  settlements  on 
the  frontier  of  Canada.  He  remembered  that  the  missionary 
had  told  him  (as  indeed  Mr.  Williams  had  done  in  their  first 
day's  conversation)  that  his  mother  was  an  Indian,  but  all 
the  rest  of  their  conversation  as  reported  was  pure  fable  ! 

And  the  man  whose  name  he  had  forgotten  was  one  to 
whom  Louis  Philippe  had  written  with  his  own  hand,  to 


438  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

whom  he  himself  had  caused  letters  to  be  addressed,  and 
about  whom  he  had  made  inquiries  of  Mr.  Ogden  in  New 
York,  and  of  people  all  along  his  route  to  Green  Bay,  as 
there  were  many  persons  able  and  willing  to  testify ! 

A  "superstitious  reverence  for  truth,"  it  has  been  said,  must 
not  be  allowed  to  stand  in  the  way  of  a  satisfactory  settlement 
of  things  of  great  importance.  This  probably  was  a  lesson 
impressed  on  the  Prince  de  Joinville  when  he  returned  disap- 
pointed to  his  father  from  his  unsuccessful  mission. 

The  subject  has  been  thus  summed  up  by  a  second  writer 
in  "  Putnam's  Magazine,"  in  February,  1854,  in  an  article  on 
the  "  Problem  of  the  Lost  Prince  "  :  — 

"When  Louis  Philippe  came  to  the  throne,  he  inherited 
the  obligation  of  looking  after  his  cousin,  the  Lost  Prince. 
He  entertains  perhaps  the  benevolent  design  of  calling  him 
home  and  treating  him  like  a  prince,  on  condition  that  he 
will  resign  all  right  to  the  throne,  and  he  sends  his  son,  the 
Prince  de  Joinville  (a  sailor,  not  a  diplomatist),  to  treat  with 
him  for  this  object,  not  doubting,  from  his  knowledge  of  his 
position,  that  his  proposal  ought  to  be,  and  probably  would 
be,  accepted.  All  this  was  perfectly  natural.  It  might  per- 
haps be  called  generous  and  noble.  Louis  Philippe,  having 
come  to  the  throne  by  the  choice  of  the  people,  could  not 
impair  his  own  rights  or  those  of  his  family  by  treating  with 
Mr.  Williams ;  and  he  was  of  course  of  the  opinion  (from 
which  no  one.  would  dissent)  that  the  idea  of  restoring  the 
son  of  Louis  XVI.  to  the  throne  of  his  father,  after  all  that 
had  passed,  could  not  be  entertained  for  a  moment  in  France 
by  people  of  influence  or  by  others.  The  mission  of  the 
Prince  de  Joinville,  therefore,  may  have  been  prompted  by 
humanity  and  benevolence.  But  it  failed.  And  when  the 
nature  of  it  became  public,  the  particulars  concerning  it 
being  incapable  on  Mr.  Williams'  part  of  verification,  for  lack 
of  witnesses,  it  would  of  course  be  denied  from  motives  of 
policy." 

Of  course  Eleazer  Williams  was  wholly  unfitted  to  be  King 
of  France  either  in  1841  or  1854.  To  add  to  his  disquali- 
fications, he  was  a  Protestant  missionary.  The  Rev.  Father 


THE  LOST  PRINCE.  439 

Marcoux,  whether  of  his  own  motion  or  prompted  from  with- 
out, succeeded  in  persuading  the  old  Indian  woman  of 
ninety,  the  reputed  mother  of  Eleazer  Williams,  that  that  un- 
fortunate heretic  might  become  King  of  France,  to  the  de- 
struction of  many  thousands  of  pious  souls.  Having  thus 
frightened  her  he  took  her  before  a  magistrate  at  Hogans- 
burg,  where  she  made  an  affidavit,  speaking  only  Indian  ;  this 
was  interpreted  into  English  by  Father  Marcoux,  no  other 
person  understanding  both  English  and  Indian  being  present. 
It  was  then  read  over  to  her  in  Indian,  and  she  signed  it 
with  her  mark.  The  document  was  at  once  taken  to  France 
by  a  M.  de  Courcey.  It  asserted  that  Eleazer  Williams 
was  her  own  son,  and  had  never  been  confided  to  her  hus- 
band's care  by  any  Frenchman. 

When  she  was  made  subsequently  to  understand  what  she 
had  sworn  to,  she  went  again  before  the  same  magistrate, 
stating  the  case  and  declaring  that  she  had  never  intended 
to  say  the  things  to  which  she  had  signed  her  mark  in  the 
previous  affidavit. 

In  the  three  articles  published  in  "  Putnam's  Magazine," 
Volumes  I.  and  III.,  and  in  Mr.  Hanson's  very  scarce  book, 
"The  Lost  Prince,"  there  are  many  more  particulars  and 
much  argument,  which,  as  I  hold  no  brief  in  the  case,  I  have 
not  repeated. 

The  particulars  regarding  the  disappearance  of  the  dau- 
phin from  the  Temple  are  more  full  in  the  article  from 
"  Figaro,"  and  are  there  based  on  public  documents. 

The  idea  of  Mr.  Hanson  is  that  the  substitution  of  the 
child  who  died  of  scrofula  took  place  between  May  31, 
1795,  and  June  5,  four  days  when  no  one  saw  the  boy 
but  Laurent,  Lasne,  Gomin  (or  Govin),  and  Bellenger, 
who  had  just  been  appointed  Commissary  at  the  Temple. 
I  may  here  remark  that  neither  Williams  nor  Mr.  Hanson 
had  ever  heard  the  name  of  Bellenger  in  connection  with 
the  prisoner  in  the  Temple,  until  after  his  confession  on  his 
deathbed  at  Baton  Rouge.  During  the  first  of  those  days  in 
1795  Bellenger  was  a  great  deal  with  the  child,  trying  to 
amuse  him  by  pictures  in  a  portfolio. 


44O  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTIOA'. 

The  impression  of  the  writer  in  "  Putnam's  Magazine  "  is 
that  the  disappearance  of  the  dauphin  from  the  Temple 
and  his  subsequent  concealment  was  due  to  the  intrigues  of 
Louis  XVIII.,  who  had  long  plotted  for  the  throne  of 
France,  and  who  years  before  had  not  scrupled  to  denounce 
his  brother's  son  as  a  bastard.  It  is  quite  true  that  the  pro- 
duction of  a  boy-king  at  that  crisis  in  French  history  would 
have  damaged  the  slender  prospects  of  restoring  the  mon- 
archy. The  "  Figaro "  thinks  the  disappearance  of  the 
dauphin  was  due  to  Barras.  The  two  men  placed  over  him 
in  the  spring  of  1795,  Lasne  and  Gomin  (or  Govin),  were  of 
different  politics,  though  they  seem  to  have  acted  together, 
Lasne  being  a  republican,  and  Govin,  so  far  as  he  dared, 
a  royalist.  Bellenger  was  a  man  trusted  by  Louis  XVIII. 
(when  Comte  de  Provence),  in  whose  service  he  had  been 
as  artist  and  designer. 

In  1 795  or  1 796  a  French  gentleman  named  Le  Ray  de 
Chaumont  came  to  America  from  France  and  settled  in 
St.  Lawrence  County,  New  York,  whefe  he  lived  in  affluence 
and  had  much  intercourse  with  the  Indians  of  St.  Regis 
and  Hogansburg.  In  the  year  1818  there  was  a  dinner- 
party at  the  house  of  Dr.  Hosack  in  New  York.  Among 
the  guests  were  Comte  Jean  d'Angely,  Dr.  John  W.  Francis, 
and  Genet,  brother  of  Madame  Campan,  ex- French  ambassa- 
dor to  the  United  States.  In  the  course  of  conversation  the 
subject  of  the  dauphin  was  introduced,  and  inquiry  was 
started  concerning  his  fate.  Then  Genet  distinctly  said, 
"  Gentlemen,  the  dauphin  of  France  is  not  dead,  but  was 
brought  to  America."  The  conversation  on  this  interesting 
subject  was  continued  for  some  time,  and  Genet  informed 
the  company  among  other  things  that  he  believed  the  dauphin 
was  in  Western  New  York,  and  that  Le  Ray  de  Chaumont 
knew  all  about  it. 

Mrs.  Brown,  living  in  New  Orleans  in  1854  when  the  sub- 
ject of  Eleazer  Williams  was  attracting  much  attention,  vol- 
untarily testified  under  oath  that  she  had  been  wife  to  the 
Secretary  of  the  Comte  d'Artois  (Charles  X.)  and  had 
resided  at  Holyrood  from  1804  to  1810;  that  she  was 


THE  LOST  PRINCE. 


441 


admitted  to  some  intimacy  by  the  Duchesse  d'Angouleme, 
who  once  told  her  that  she  knew  the  dauphin  was  alive  and 
in  America.  She  also  heard  the  name  of  Williams  in  that 
connection.  She  adds  that  the  royal  family,  while  knowing 
that  the  dauphin  was  alive,  always  asserted  that  he  was 
incompetent  to  reign. 

Another  lady,  wife  to  the  secretary  of  the  Comte  de 
Coigny,  had  told  Mrs.  Brown,  when  they  were  speaking  on 
the  subject,  that  it  had  been  much  discussed  in  the  royal 
palace ;  that  it  was  said  the  elevation  of  such  a  person  to 
the  throne  would  only  increase  the  difficulties  of  the  times  ; 
that  a  man  had  come  from  America  to  confer  with  the  family 
on  the  subject;  that  money  had  been  given  him,  and  he 
had  returned  to  America. 

No  doubt  the  Duchesse  d'Angouleme,  while  a  young  per- 
son, supposed  her  brother  to  have  perished  in  the  Temple, 
and  probably  took  Govin's  account  of  his  last  hours  as  fact. 
But  anybody  reading  M.  Beauchesne's  book,  with  its  mar- 
vellous account  of  the  last  days  of  the  poor  child's  life,  can- 
not fail  to  be  struck  with  the  manifest  fictitiousness  of  the 
accounts  given  "upon  their  sacred  honor,"  in  1818  by 
Govin  and  Lasne.  This  account  answered  its  purpose.  It 
was  desirable  to  prove  the  dauphin  dead  in  1818.  We  have 
seen  already  that  the  Duchesse  d'Angouleme  was  never 
satisfied  about  her  brother's  death,  even  after  Govin  and 
Lasne  had  published  their  story,  and  that  every  fresh  re- 
port concerning  him  greatly  excited  her.  But  yet,  as  an 
earnest  Catholic,  how  could  she  have  been  willing  to  wel- 
come a  Protestant  missionary  as  heir  to  the  French 
throne  ? 

The  Rev.  Eleazer  Williams  died  at  Hogansburg,  New 
York,  August  27,  1858,  aged  seventy-three  years. 


INDEX. 


A. 

ABBAYE,  massacre  in  the,  179-182. 

Abeille,  Dr.,  opinion  on  escape  of  Louis 
XVII.,  74. 

Adam,  Adolphe,  account  of  Feast  of 
Supreme  Being,  quoted,  290-307. 

Adhemar,  Comtesse  d',  on  supposed 
death  of  Louis  XVII.,  quoted,  416. 

Amadeus  III.  of  Sardinia,  reception  of 
news  of  Louis  X  VI. 's  execution,  220. 

Andoins,  Captain  d',  154,  155. 

Angouleme,  Duchesse  d',  account  of 
separation  of  Marie  Antoinette  from 
her  son,  quoted,  401,  402  ;  lack  of 
conviction  as  to  her  brother's  death, 
416,  418,  419;  account  of  life  in 
Temple,  quoted,  233,  234,  235. 

"  Appleton's  Journal,"  mentioned  in 
note,  n6. 

Arras,  fete  at,  in  honor  of  Robespierre, 

337,  338. 

Artois,  Comte  d',  description  of,  133. 
August,  tenth  of,  insurrection,  27-29 ; 

events  leading  to,  176-178. 
Ayen,  Duchesse  d',  execution  of,  395- 

400. 

B. 

BARRAS,  317,  409,  411,  412,  416. 
Barrere,  direction  of  fete  to  Supreme 

Being,  294,  295. 
Bastille,  celebration  of  taking  of,  23-25  ; 

destruction  of,  103-106  ;  prisoners  in 

when  captured,  104. 
Berryer,   M.,  lieutenant  of  police,  74, 

75,  /6,  77- 


Bicetre,  destruction  of,  106. 

Blanc,  Louis,  quoted,  on  Louis  XVII., 
418. 

Blois,  Henri  Grdgoire,  Bishop  of,  first 
knowledge  of,  355  ;  political  views, 
356 ;  action  in  the  States-General, 
357  ;  appointment  to  bishopric,  357  ; 
public  life,  357-361  ;  death,  361. 

Bois  de  Boulogne,  appearance  in  1787, 

121. 

Boissy  d'Anglas,  on    Rabaut,  quoted, 

363. 
Bollman,    Dr.  Erick,  share  in  escape 

of  Lafayette,  376-378. 
Boufflers,  Marquis  de,  lines  on  Marie 

Antoinette's  faults,  quoted,  137. 
Bouille',  General,  151,  155,  160,  161. 
Buonaparte,  Napoleon,  176,  341. 


CALENDAR,  changes  in,  during  Revolu- 
tion, 337-342. 

Campan,  Madame,  62. 

Carlyle,  Mr.,  144,  quoted,  on  insurrec- 
tion of  roth  of  August,  172-175. 

Carnot,  Lazare,  intimacy  with  Robes- 
pierre, 324. 

Carrichon,  M..  quoted,  on  execution  of 
Madame  de  Lafayette's  family,  390- 
400. 

Cathedral  of  St.  Denis,  description  of, 
122. 

Charles  XIII.  of  Sweden,  170. 

Chenier,  Joseph,  poet,  295,  297,  300, 
301,  306,  307. 

Choiseul,  Due  de,  151,  152,  153,  155, 
157,  158. 


444 


INDEX. 


Christian,  Prince  of  Schleswig-Holstein, 
170. 

Clergy  of  France  during  Revolution, 
348-372. 

Cle"ry,  valet  to  Louis  XVI.,  quoted. 
murder  of  Princesse  de  Lamballe, 
195-197  ;  last  hours  of  Louis  XVI., 
203-207. 

Commune,  sections  forming,  245,  246. 

Cond6,  Prince  de,  funeral  services  or- 
dered by,  for  Louis  XVI.,  221. 

Constitution  Civile,  348-350,  357. 

Convention,  National,  reception  of 
king's  petition,  200 ;  orders  for 
king's  execution,  201 ;  meeting  after 
execution,  215,  216;  recognition  of 
Supreme  Being,  294  ;  confiscation  of 
church  property,  348-350. 

Copp6e,  Francois,  quoted,  poem 
"  Which,"  342,  343. 

Corday,  Charlotte,  birth  and  personal 
appearance,  248  ;  education,  249,  250; 
resolution  to  destroy  Marat,  251  ; 
departure  for  Paris,  252  ;  letter  to 
father,  quoted,  253  ;  arrival  in  Paris, 
254  ;  address  written  to  Frenchmen, 
quoted,  255,  256;  letter  to  Marat, 
quoted,  256,257;  murder  of  Marat 
and  arrest,  262 ;  imprisonment  in 
Abbaye,  263-268  ;  letter  to  Committee 
of  Public  Safety,  quoted,  264 :  letter 
to  Barbaroux,  quoted,  264-267,  269, 

270 ;  removal    to  Concier<jerie,  268  ; 
'    \  &       i          » 

examination   before    Tribunal,    268, 
271-273  ;     letter  to   father,    quoted, 
271 ;  last  hours,  273,  274;  execution 
and  burial,  275. 
Cordeliers,  277. 

D. 

D'ALEGRE,  escape  from  Bastille,  77- 

83-  97- 

Danton,  Revolutionary  leader,  depar- 
ture from  Paris,  277 ;  resignation 
from  Committee  of  Public  Safety, 
278  ;  arrest.  279  ;  imprisonment  at 
the  Luxembourg,  280;  removal  to 
Conciergerie,  281 ;  trial,  281-286  ; 
execution,  287 ;  life  and  character, 
288,  289;  alluded  to,  173,  178,  244, 
245. 


Danton,  Madame,  288. 
Dauphin.    See  Louis  XVII. 
David,  painter,  263,  275,  294,  305. 
Dejean,  Dr.,  quoted,  letter  concerning 

Latude,  87,  88. 
De  la  Croix,  M.,  100,  101. 
Desmoulins,  Camille,  arrest,  279  ;  trial, 

281,  285  ;  execution,  287. 
Desorgues,  Chevalier,  author  of  hymn 

to  Supreme  Being,  303,  304,  306. 
Dogs  in  the  Revolution,  343-347. 
Dol,  Archbishop  of,  epitaph  to,  354. 
Drouet,  ].  B.,  postmaster  at  Varennes, 

54,  I55i  !58- 
Duperret,  friend  of  Charlotte  Corday, 

254,  255,  263. 

Duplay,  Eleonore,  family  of,  328; 
personal  appearance  and  character, 

S32- 

Duplay,  Maurice,  residence,  325-327 ; 
first  acquaintance  with  Robespierre, 
327 ;  pecuniary  circumstances  and 
political  views,  328. 

E. 

EDGEWORTH,     Abb£,     confessor     to 

Louis  XVI.,  203,  205,  208,  213. 
Eglantine,  Fabred',  quoted,  description 

of  Marat,  259. 
Elisabeth,  Madame,  life  in  the  Temple, 

402. 
Erckmann-Chatrian,  "  M£moires   d'un 

Paysan,''  mentioned  in  note,  107. 

F. 

FERSEN,  Count  Axel  de,  participation 
in  flight  to  Varennes,  145-149;  sub- 
sequent career,  164-171. 

"  Figaro,"  quoted,  on  last  days  of  Louis 
XVI.,  198-222 ;  on  fate  of  Louis 
XVII.,  408-420;  mentioned  in  notes, 

247,  3°9-  344-  386. 

Fouquier-Tinville,  member  of  Revo- 
lutionary Tribunal,  240,  241,  251, 
272,  284,  285,  328. 

France,  condition  of,  in  1792,  110-115  ; 
journey  through,  in  1787,  116-129; 
clergy  in,  during  Revolution,  348- 
372. 


INDEX. 


445 


G. 

"  GENTLEMAN'S  MAGAZINE,"  quoted, 
on  Count  Fersen,  164-171  ;  on 
Rabaut,  362-372. 

Germany,  Emperor  of,  reception  of 
news  of  execution  of  Louis  XVI., 
221. 

Goguelat,  M.,  part  in  flight  to 
Varennes,  151,  152,  157,  158,  162, 
163. 

Gossec,  composer  of  hymn  to  Supreme 
Being,  295,  297,  300,  301,  302,  306. 

Grandidier,  M.,  quoted  in  Klindworth's 
memoirs  on  attempt  to  restore  Marie 
Antoinette  to  Austria,  223-231. 

Gr6goire,  Henri.     See  Blois. 

Griffith,  Thomas  Waters,  birth  and 
early  life,  9-17;  departure  for 
France,  18;  residence  in  Bolbec  and 
Havre,  19,  20 ;  removal  to  Paris,  21  ; 
witness  of  celebration  of  taking  of 
Bastille,  23,  24 ;  public  dinner  given 
by  Santerre,  25;  insurrection  of  loth 
of  August,  27-30 ;  massacres  of 
September,  31-33  ;  journey  to  Havre, 
34-37 ;  visit  to  London,  37,  38 ; 
return  to  America,  39 ;  return  to 
Paris  and  subsequent  arrest,  41  : 
imprisonment  at  the  Madelonettes, 
43-47;  at  Scotch  College,  47-49; 
release,  50  ;  efforts  to  obtain  release 
of  Thomas  Paine,  50 ;  visit  to 
London,  53,  54 ;  appointment  as 
consul  to  Havre,  54;  return  to 
France,  55;  life  in  Paris,  58-67; 
journey  to  Spain,  68  ;  final  departure 
^or  America,  69. 

Guillotine,  Dr.,  204. 

Gustavus  III.  of  Sweden,  165,  168, 
169. 

Gustavus  IV.  of  Sweden,  170. 

Guyonnet,  M.,  governor  of  Vincennes, 
92>  93- 

H. 

HALLES,  the,  in  1789,  141, 142. 

Hanson,  Rev.  Mr.,  quoted,  description 
of  Eleazer  Williams,  436. 

Hawks,  Dr.,  quoted,  opinion  of  Elea- 
zer Williams,  429,  430. 


Hubert,  Revolutionary  leader,  215,  246, 
263,  277. 

Herman,  judge  of  Revolutionary  Tri- 
bunal, 282,  283,  284,  285. 

Hitchman,  Francis,  quoted,  on  Revolu- 
tionary Calendar,  335-342. 

Huger,  Colonel,  share  in  escape  of 
Lafayette,  377,  378. 

Hugo,  Victor,  quoted,  poem  on  Louis 
XVII.,  405-407. 


J- 


JOINVILLE,  Prince  de,  visit  to  Amer- 
ica, 421-422  ;  interview  with  Eleazer 
Williams,  422-429  ;  subsequent  con- 
duct to  Eleazer  Williams,  437. 

Jones,  Commodore  Paul,  21. 

Josephine  de  Beauharnais,  409 ;  action 
on  behalf  of  Louis  XVII.,  417. 

"  Journal  de  la  Re'publique,"  quoted,  on 
execution  of  Louis  XVI.,  220. 


K. 

KILLARENE,  Dean  of,  novel,  mentioned 

in  note,  365. 
Klindworth,  memoirs  of,  223. 


L. 

LAFAYETTE,  Marquis  de,  birth  and 
early  life,  373  ;  visit  to  America, 
374  ;  public  life  on  return  to  France, 
374,  375  ;  imprisonment,  376 ;  escape, 
377 ;  capture  and  re-imprisonment, 
378-379 ;  release,  379  ;  second  visit 
to  America,  381-383 ;  return  to 
France,  384 ;  death  and  funeral, 
385  ;  character,  387. 

Lafayette,  family  of,  386-389. 

Lamballe,  Princesse  de,  birth,  descent, 
and  marriage,  184;  friendship  with 
Marie  Antoinette,  185 ;  flight  to 
England,  186;  return  to  France, 
187;  imprisonment  in  Temple,  190; 
at  La  Force,  191-194;  trial,  194; 
murder,  32,  195. 


446 


INDEX. 


Lariviere,  account  of  last  moments  of 
Marie  Antoinette,  241,  242. 

Latimer,  Mr.  Randolph,  quoted,  de- 
scription of  Eleazer  Williams,  436, 

437- 
Latude,  Henri  de,  imprisonments  and 

escapes,  72-103. 

Launay,  M.  de,  governor  of  the  Bas- 
tille, 104. 
Lebas,      Philippe,      friendship      with 

Robespierre,  333. 

Lebas,  Madame,  anecdote  of,  333-335. 
Lebrun,     family    of,    friendship     for 

Latude,    91,  92. 
Legros,  Madame,  friendship  for  Latude, 

99-102. 

Lenfant,  Abb6,  murder  of,  1 79. 
Lenoir,  M.,  lieutenant  of  police,  97,  99, 

lor. 

Lett  res  de  cachet,  95. 
"  Littell's  Living  Age,"  mentioned  in 

notes,  130,  223,  290,  348,  355,  386, 

39°- 

London,  reception  in,  of  news  of  Louis 
XVI. 's  execution,  220. 

"London  Quarterly  Review,"  men- 
tioned in  note,  235. 

Louis  XVI.,  description  of,  131 ;  pri- 
vate life  in  1789,  134;  seeks  protec- 
tion of  Assembly,  189 ;  condemned  to 
death  by  National  Assembly,  199 ; 
petition  to  above,  quoted,  1 99,  200 ; 
account  of  imprisonment,  202 ;  last 
interview  with  family,  203;  last 
hours,  204-210;  execution,  211, 
212;  burial,  214. 

Louis  XVII.,  separation  from  his 
mother,  401,  402 ;  subsequent  life 
in  prison,  403,  404 ;  evidence  in 
favor  of  escape  from  Temple,  409- 
414;  political  reasons  for  the  sup- 
pression of  his  escape,  415-419. 

Louis  XVIII.,  erection  of  Chapelle 
Expiatoire,  418. 

Lyons,  massacre  at,  290. 

M. 

"  MACMILLAN'S  MAGAZINE,"  men- 
tioned in  note,  390. 

Malesherbes,  M.  de,  prime  minister  of 
France,  96,  199,  293. 


Manuel,  procureur  of  the  Commune, 
190-193. 

Marat,  Revolutionary  leader,  appointed 
President  of  Council  of  the  Com- 
mune, 24  5 ;  demand  for  heads  of 
aristocrats,  246;  political  views,  247; 
birth  and  personal  appearance,  257; 
education,  258 ;  interest  in  Revolu- 
tion, 258,  259;  residence,  260;  love- 
affair  with  Simone  Evrard,  260; 
murder,  261;  funeral,  263;  honor 
paid  to  after  death,  275,  276;  descrip- 
tion of,  by  D'liglantine,  quoted,  259. 

Marie  Antoinette,  description  of,  132; 
friendship  for  Count  Fersen,  165- 
167 ;  friendship  for  Princesse  de  Lam- 
balle,  185;  letter  to  above,  quoted, 
187;  conduct  at  King's  death,  217; 
imprisonment  in  Temple,  233-235 ; 
in  Conciergerie,  235-239;  trial  by 
Revolutionary  Tribunal,  239,  240; 
last  hours,  241,  242  ;  execution,  41, 
42,  243 ;  lines  on  faults  by  Boufflers, 
quoted,  137. 

Markham,  Mrs.,  historian,  mentioned 
in  note,  232. 

Marseilles,  massacres  at,  290. 

Marshal  Maille,  172,  173;  murder  of, 
182. 

Maton,  lawyer,  quoted,  on  massacre  in 
La  Force,  179-181. 

Mirabsau,  Comte  de,  quoted,  on  Lafay- 
ette, 385. 

Monroe,  Mr.,  American  minister,  52,  55, 
56,  59,  61,  65. 

Moore,  Dr.  John,  letter  from,  quoted, 
on  Marie  Antoinette,  189-190. 

Morris,  Gouverneur,  American  mini^- 
ter,  21,  22,  31,  52,  220  ;  letters  from, 
to  Mr.  Griffith,  quoted,  45,  46. 

Motte,  Madame  de  la,  124. 

Mouchy,  Mar£chale  de,  death  of,  392, 
393- 

N. 

"NATIONAL  REVIEW,"  mentioned  in 
note,  348. 

Naundorff,  M.,  pretender,  408,  409, 
416,  419,  420. 

Necker,  Madame,  98,  letter  from,  relat- 
ing to  Latude,  quoted,  101,  102. 


INDEX. 


447 


"  Nineteenth  Century,"  mentioned  in 
note,  355. 

Noailles,  Mar6chale  de,  execution,  395- 
400. 

Noailles,  Vicomtesse  de,  letter  to  hus- 
band, quoted,  391,  392,  execution, 
395-400. 

Nolte,  Vincent,  quoted,  on  Lafayette's 
visit  to  Washington,  383,  384,  385. 

Normandie,  Due  de.    See  Naundorff. 


o. 

OBERKIRCH,  Madame  d',  letter  from, 

quoted,  185,  186. 
Orange,  massacre  at,  290. 
Orleans,  Duchesse  d',  197;  mentioned 

in  note,  186. 


P. 

PAINE,  Thomas  Treat,  50,  59,  61. 

Palais  Royal  in  1789,  139. 

Paris,  description  of,  before  Revolution, 
130-143  ;  after  king's  execution,  219, 
220;  fetes  in,  during  Revolution, 
291-293. 

Parisians,  dress  of,  in  1789,  140;  be- 
havior of,  after  execution  of  king,  213, 
214. 

Penthievre,  Due  de,  184,  191,  197. 

Pe'tion,  mayor  of  Paris.  172,  253. 

Phalsbourg,  description  of  town,  107- 
109. 

Philippe,  ifgalite",  Due  d'Orldans,  199, 
218. 

Polignac,  Madame  de,  184. 

Pompadour,  Madame  de,  72,  74,  76,  77, 
91. 

Prieur,  Abbe,  94. 

Provence,  Comte  de,  description  of, 
133;  at  Trianon,  136;  farewell  visit 
to  king,  146;  reception  of  news  of 
king's  death,  221 ;  hope  of  crown, 
409. 

"  Putnam's  Magazine,"  quoted,  on 
Eleazer  Williams,  422-429,  438,  43$ . 


Q. 

QUINCY,  Mr.  Josiah,  quoted,  on  Lafay- 
ette's appearance  in  Boston,  381,  382. 


R. 

RABAUT,  Paul,  Huguenot  pastor,  362, 

37«- 

Rabaut,  Saint-Etienne,  Huguenot,  pas 
tor,  early  life,  362,  363  ;  departure  for 
Paris,  364 ;  election  to  States-Gen- 
eral, 365  ;  speecli  against  death  of 
King,  366;  downfall,  368;  capture, 
369;  execution,  370,  371. 

Recamier,  Madame,  62. 

Revolution,  French,  causes  of,  70-72 ; 
episodes  of,  324-347 ;  ideas  of,  335, 
336  ;  men  of,  355. 

Revolutionary  Calendar,  335-342. 

Robespierre,  Revolutionary  leader,  as  a 
poet,  324,  325  ;  intimacy  with  Lazare 
Carnot,  ^24;  verses  to  the  Society  of 
the  Rosati,  quoted,  324,  325 :  private 
life  with  the  family  Duplay,  325-333 ; 
Fete  of  the  Supreme  Being,  305  ; 
political  views,  308;  personal  appear- 
ance and  character,  309;  love  of 
power,  310;  struggle  for  supremacy 
in  Convention,  310-312;  downfall, 
314;  arrest,  315;  imprisonment  and 
liberation,  316;  attack  upon  by  Mcda, 
318;  capture,  319,  320;  execution, 
322;  character,  322,  323  ;  allusions  to, 
216,  237,  245,  246,  277,  278. 

Rome,  reception  at,  of  news  of  Louis 
XVI. 's  execution,  221. 

Romme,  chairman  of  Committee  of 
Public  Instruction,  337,  338. 

Rosati,  Society  of  the,  324. 


S. 

SAINT-^TIENNE.     See  Rabaut,  Jean 

Paul. 

Saint-Just,  278,  312,  316,  320. 
Salpetriere,  description  of,  in  1787,  124, 

125. 
Sanson,  executioner,  209,  210,  211,  286. 


448 


INDEX. 


Santerre,     General,      commander      of 
National  Guard,  203,  206,  207,  212, 

215.  344-347- 
Sardou,  quoted,  on  Robespierre,  325- 

335- 
Sarrette,   musical    director,    290,    295, 

296-304,  306,  307. 
Sartine,  M.  de,    letter   of   Latude  to, 

quoted,  93,  95,  101. 
Sauce,  M.,    mayor  of   Varennes,  156, 

!57- 

September  massacres,  31-33,  178-183. 
Sicard,     Abbe",     quoted,     account    of 

massacre  in  La  Force,  181. 
Supreme  Being,  Feast  of,  institution, 

294 ;     preparations    for,     294-304 ; 

celebration  of,  305-307. 
Swiss  Guard,  massacre  of,  174,  175, 


T. 

TALLIEN,  Madame,  62. 

Temple,   the,    life  of  royal  family  in. 

233-235- 

"  Temple  Bar,"  mentioned  in  note,  184. 
Tourzel,  Madame  de,  147,   189;  letter 

from,  quoted,  191,  192;  escape  from 

La  Force,  192,  193. 


Tourzel,    Mademoiselle  de,   189,    190; 

escape  from  La  Force,  191. 
Trianon,  description  of,  135-138. 


V. 

VARENNES,  flight  of  royal  family  to, 

144-163. 
Versailles,  description  of,  in  1787,  125, 

126 ;  massacre  at,  182,  183. 


w. 

WILLIAMS,  Eleazer,  account  of  inter- 
view with  Prince  de  Join ville,  quoted, 
422-429;  early  history,  430-433; 
missionary  work,  434-436;  further 
evidence  as  to  identity,  436-440 ; 
death,  440. 

Williams,  Helen  Maria,  quoted,  336. 


Y. 

YOUNG,  Arthur,  quoted,  on  condition 
of  France,  336. 


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